


Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, or: A Graybluegreen State of Mind.

by Chemical_Defect



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cake, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Miscarriage, bet, getting better, implied cutting, implied drug used, lying, withdrawals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 14:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemical_Defect/pseuds/Chemical_Defect
Summary: John has received a phonecall from Mycroft to inform him that his brother is using again.John goes to Baker Street and finds that Mycroft was again, correct. He endeavours to help Sherlock through the period of withdrawal.





	1. Have you made a list?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you will enjoy it, dear readers, I had great fun writing it.
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos and comments warm my little black heart, and feed my muse :D

 

John arrived at 221B in a hurry. Mycroft had phoned him earlier asking him to drop by to keep an eye on his brother, stating he was too busy to be there himself but that according to his sources, Sherlock was using again. John used his keys to get inside then knocked on the door of his former flat. He could have just barged in, but he wasn't living there anymore so a part of him preferred to be more distant. When nobody answered, he decided to open the door, calling Sherlock as he entered to let the other man know he was coming.

 

Sherlock was sat on the floor of the flat of his living room, legs crossed, eyes closed, breathing somewhat slow. He was dramatically draped in his satin blue dressing gown, the one he knew that John liked to see him wear. There was no logical reason for him to have decided to wear this particular garment.  _ _'Not everything makes sense and not everything has to'__ , he remembered someone telling him when he was still a young child.

Upon seeing that tableau John let escape a deep sigh.   
‘So you're high. Mycroft was right then,’ he said with a disappointed tone. ‘Where is your list?’

 

Sherlock kept his eyes shut. The room was too bright and the appearance of John in the room would have made it even brighter, blindingly so. 'I would be very much interested to know how you could make such a ridiculous assumption.'

 

‘Ridiculous? The only ridiculous feature in this room is sitting on the floor like a bloody drama queen,’ he said coming closer to squat in front of the detective, pulling his left eyelid up to evaluate the damage.   
‘Jesus, Sherlock, your pupils are wider than saucers! What did you take this time? I'm your doctor, I need to know.’

 

'Are you, now?' Sherlock retorted as he drew back from John's touch. That mere movement, however small it was, was enough to make his head spin. It was just as well that he had closed his eyes again after John had tried to assess the situation.

 

‘Easy,’ John said, placing a gentle hand on Sherlock's back to secure his balance. ‘You should lie down. Where is your list?’ As he asked, he tentatively slid a hand inside the pocket of the other man's dressing gown in the hope of finding the damn list.

 

John had noticed. How had John noticed? John could not have become that perceptive in such a short time, could he? Why was he gentle with him like that? Feeling the warmth of his hand against his back was relaxing. He was already relaxed but John seemed to make every little thing even better. He felt his body become limp. Maybe John was right, maybe he should lie down. Why were his hands all over him? 'What are you looking f- Oh. What list?' he asked as if he had not the slightest idea what John was talking about.

 

‘The list Sherlock, the list of everything you've taken,’ said the doctor in an angrier tone. He passed behind the other man and slid both his arms under his armpits so he could drag him to the sofa. ‘Try to remember. It is very important, there is a list, you wrote it before putting yourself in that state, is it nearby?’ He dropped Sherlock on the sofa as delicately as he could and went to look around the room. On the desk, the mantlepiece, and even on the kitchen table which was covered with a full set of suspicious items, but there was no sign of the piece of paper.   
‘Sherlock, make an effort, tell me where it is. Is it in your bedroom then?’ he asked looking at the unmoving creature wearing the blue satin garment.  _ _Why on Earth was he so beautiful? Even in that state…! Get a grip on yourself Watson, the man is in agony for God's sake!__ He proceeded to make his way to the corridor leading to Sherlock's bedroom.

 

'Billy' answered Sherlock.

 

‘I'm not Billy, Sherlock. It's John’ he replied in an annoyed voice as he was coming back from the bedroom. ’You're a complete mess, you know that?’ He put the Union Jack pillow under his friend's head. ‘Is the bloody list with him ? Do I need to phone that cock to know what you're under, Sherlock? Please make an effort. Think!’

 

'John, John, yes,' Sherlock replied, his eyes still shut, his body visibly feeling John touching him. 'Billy, not Bill. 'M' skull, John.' Despite the mild abuse John had thrown at him, Sherlock only heard 'Let me help you. Please help me to help you'.

 

John walked the few steps that separated him from the mantelpiece and lifted the skull to uncover a used syringe and a dirty piece of paper. The handwriting was unsteady and the colour and smell of the few drops left in the plunger confirmed the doctor's diagnosis. Heroin. No real clues about the amount of it though. But Sherlock being a chemist and picky about everything, John had no doubt that it was of the purest quality to be found in London. He had seen his former flatmate high before. But never like this. He went to the kitchen and came back with a container and a wet cloth to help his friend.   
First he took his pulse, applying two fingers at the base of the other man's carotid artery. It was very slow. Very unlike Sherlock’s usual pulse, John thought. He seemed so at peace, his dark curls framing his face, his complexion paler than usual -if that was even possible. Only the shade of his plump lips were contrasting. He looked like a Renaissance painting. John shook these thoughts aside and applied the wet cloth against the man's forehead.   
‘You’ve put yourself in such a state again... Don't you fall asleep. You hear me?’ he said, lightly tapping Sherlock's prominent cheekbones. 

'Yessss,' replied Sherlock. His voice had dropped in volume and strength yet he had the impression to be shouting. He leaned into John's touch. He was not completely out of it and could discern that it wasn't his hand but... Something else, wet and cool on his forehead. He had heard the water run - as loudly as if it had been a geyser.

 

John put his hand back on the taller man’s forehead to check his temperature.

‘Jesus, you’re burning up. Alright, you’ll be more comfortable in your own bed anyway. Come on, I’ll need a little participation here,’ he said, slowly helping Sherlock into a sitting position to give him time to adjust. ‘Sherlock? Still with me there? We’re gonna need to coordinate. Come on, up now,’ he added, a little more loudly. He helped the detective to his feet and passed the other man’s arm around his neck. Once he had a good grip, they made their way to the corridor leading to Sherlock’s bedroom.

 

John was embracing him. Maybe ‘embrace’ was not the right word. But John’s arms were around him. It felt warm. But he couldn’t help shivering anyway. He might have miscalculated the dosage. Or had too much?  _ _There’s no such thing as too much__ , came the Woman’s voice, unbidden. John’s voice sounded gray. Or was it blue? Or maybe green? Oh, he knew that direction. He was walking slooooowly. John was helping him. To his bedroom, apparently. He had asked for something...What was it? He had heard the sound but didn’t make much sense of it. He tried to consider what was happening as a case. John had come home to Baker Street. John had sounded graybluegreen. He had put something wet and cool on him. He still sounded graybluegreen. What if he  _ _looked__ that way too? Sherlock couldn’t imagine opening his eyes. It would hurt too much. Heroin.  _ _There is such a thing as ‘too much’. ‘Too much pain’. ‘Too much absence of John’. ‘Too much happening in my brain.’__

John was helping him. He was a doctor. And Sherlock was his best friend. Sherlock had taken a bit of heroin. Help. That’s what he must have asked for. Why had he...Oh. He put some of his weight on his own legs. The rest of him leant on John. John was so warm, it was really nice. Efficient against the shivers. Very efficient.

 

The way to the detective’s bedroom was not as easy as John had predicted. Twice they almost fell, Sherlock putting all his weight on John and being thinner and taller, he tripped over his own bare feet. John was glad he had caught him before they both ended on the floor. Taking support on the wall, step by step, they made it to the bedroom. John gently let go of Sherlock on the bed and started to peel the dressing gown off his friend. He rolled him over a bit, one sleeve after the other before unbuttoning the cuffs of the familiar purple shirt he had seen on the man so many times before.

“Sherlock, you alright? Talk to me, you really need to stay awake, I’m not joking”

‘So warm, John,’ Sherlock said between bouts of shivering. He had given up on helping John. He didn’t know what John was -  _ _Oh.__ ‘No,’ he declared firmly, grasping John’s hands. He opened his eyes despite the pain and fixed his gaze on John. ‘Please. No. John.’ His trembling fingers trying to fix the buttons again, the  _ _excruciating pain__ , the sheer terror that John  would… ’Mustn’t...Please,’ he added.

John gently took Sherlock’s hands from the cuffs. He had no idea why his friend suddenly seemed that scared, that terrified.  _ _Probably a bad trip__ , he thought as he tried his best to reassure his shivering friend.

‘Hey it’s only me, you have nothing to fear, okay? You’re safe, you’re home, in your room…You have a bad fever Sherlock, we need to lower your temperature. Nobody will harm you here, I promise. Do you trust me?’ he said, still holding both Sherlock’s hands in his. Sherlock bent his head, disbelieving of his senses. He saw John’s hands on his. So warm. But he felt cold inside. And terrified. He had not understood what John had said. He had understood the feeling behind it more than anything. The warmth John’s physical presence brought him was reassuring. He squeezed John’s hands, or at least tried to. ‘John,’ he said with feeling and determination, trying to convey his trust.

John gave his friend a reassuring nod.

‘Right. You stay here, try not to doze off, I’m fetching some ice from the kitchen. Won’t be a tick,’ he said, almost at the bedroom’s door.

Thanks to Sherlock’s habit of storing various body parts and experiments, the freezer was never out of ice. John gathered a certain amount of it and wrapped the tiny cubes into a cloth. Then he went back to Sherlock’s bedroom. His patient seemed to have calmed down and was still resting on his back. He must have shifted to the middle of the bed and his breathing was very slow.  

John had to bend over the bed a bit so he could access the detective’s chest with the folded cloth full of ice. The sudden change of  temperature must have been a shock because Sherlock’s eyes snapped open as he grabbed John’s forearms, making him lose his balance. Before he had realised it, John had fallen on top of his friend in a very awkward way.

That was unexpected. Sherlock felt as if he were on fire with John’s body on top of him. ‘Chest. It hurts. It didn’t and now it does, John,’ he said agitatedly. ‘John, make it stop?’ begged Sherlock, his voice almost breaking. The pain was too intense. He had gone through too much pain already...and John...John couldn’t know. But it hurt so much...He wouldn’t be able...Not alone. He couldn’t…’Please?’, he added in between sobs.

To John, Sherlock was obviously lost in drugs.Overreacting at a bit of ice, he really seemed desperate.

‘Calm down, it’s just ice Sherlock, you’ll be ok,’ he said removing the ice pouch from its current location and trying to roll over so he would lie next to his agitated friend.

John didn’t understand what his friend was referring to or why he suddenly seemed in such pain but he wanted to help. Watching Sherlock suffer was the most frustrating thing on Earth.

Still holding onto John’s forearms, shivering and sobbing, Sherlock’s feeble control over himself broke. His fingers were now digging into John’s forearms, his face a mask of pain and terror. He was crying openly now. ‘John. John. Stop. Has to stop. Please,’ he begged. ‘Help me f-...’ He let out a shout that would have woken a dragon. But he was in no state to slay it.

“Sherlock...Sherlock!...I don’t know what you see or imagine you see but it’s not real, you hear me? You’re safe here, you’re home with me, you’re just ...dreaming…”

At these words, seeing his friend still in such pain, John who was now lying on the bed, right next to Sherlock got closer to the man and held him in his arms in the hope it would calm him down.

The pain was ever present. The embrace of the fire smothered the cold he felt inside. His blood was boiling. His heart beat so hard and so fast that Sherlock might have thought it would explode in his chest. And John? Where was John? Oh, the fire. John was the fire. John had smothered the cold. He had saved Sherlock from it. Sherlock returned the embrace. Not only did he bask in John’s warmth, he was certain that John made everything better. He was his doctor, after all.

Sherlock had instantly wrapped his own arms around the doctor. Leaving John’s face pressed right on Sherlock’s heart. It was odd to think of it but it was also conjuring butterflies in John’s stomach. Holding Sherlock felt natural to him, yet Sherlock holding him back was something else entirely. They stayed like this a moment, John was able to hear every beating of his former flatmate’s heart. The rate was slowing and that was a good thing given the situation. It was nice.  _ _Better than nice__ , John thought. When Sherlock’s heart beat had reached a more “normal” rate, John realised the fabric of his friend’s shirt, was sticking on his face, damp of sweat from his fever of earlier. Maybe now that Sherlock had calmed down he would be reasonable and agree to change it. He slowly started to move a bit, disentangling his head from Sherlock’s arms.

“Sherlock… Your shirt is soaked… Let me help you.”

He said with a gentle voice. As Sherlock wasn’t answering, he started to unbutton his friend’s shirt, starting from the navel until he reached the collar. Sherlock had put both his hands on John’s, making him stop unbuttoning his shirt. He opened his eyes and flinched but did not shy away. ‘John, no, no. It’s fine. Pleass.’

“But Sherlock, it’s for your own good, you can’t be serious, just look at it! The damn thing is soaking wet. You’ll catch death like this!”

‘Death can’t. Catch me.’

“Sherlock Holmes, you’re a bloody drama queen! You take that shirt off right now or I’ll make you do it myself!” he said with a bossy tone. John was shouting at him. Sherlock didn’t like it. If taking his shirt off would prevent - why didn’t he want to do that? He didn’t remember. ‘Thirsty. John, I’m thirsty...could you…?’

“Right, I’m bringing you some water, but when I come back, I want the shirt gone!”

He said getting up and leaving for the kitchen with the soaked cloth that was full of ice an hour ago.’ He came back with a glass full of water a moment later. Just as he crossed the bedroom threshold, his left hand became limp and the glass of water hit the floor hard, shattering in pieces and spilling water everywhere.

“What the hell!” he heard himself say.

The shirt was gone. But Sherlock was lying on his left side, his abused back exposed. In front of John, there was… He didn’t even know how to call...that.

The flesh on Sherlock’s back was a mess. And John had seen injured soldiers before. Treated too many of them on the battlefield. Some of them on the site, others in a better context. He knew to recognise stigmatas of torture when he saw them. And  _ _this__ … this had no other words.

Torture. The very word sent chills down his spine.

Sherlock -his Sherlock- had been tortured. He never really had answers about where Sherlock had been during the two years he had been away. But what John had under his eyes left nothing to the imagination.

“Sherlock…” John wanted to ask his friend, to know what had happened and why. But knowing the man, he knew there was little chance for him to have answers. He needed to ask anyway. He would have answers. He needed them. Even if it meant harassing Sherlock to get them.

 

The fire that was John had smothered the cold inside, but it didn't vanquish it. When John left the room, Sherlock felt the loss acutely. He knew that John had not abandoned him. John would not do that. John was always here for him. John Watson had to be obeyed. Sherlock did not remember the reason why his shirt should be kept on at all times, he did not even remember why he had fought John when he had unbuttoned his cuffs - but Sherlock was not about to refuse John. If John said that keeping it on would not be good, John must be right. Sighing because of the physical effort, Sherlock sat up on his bed and took his shirt off, one sleeve after the other.

Ah. That was why he didn't want John to see his arms. But John knew about that, it wasn't as if it would have been a dramatic surprise.

The room had become suddenly cold again. The loss of John, the loss of his warmth, the loss of his wet shirt… he closed his eyes again, and lay crouched on his side to keep as much warmth as he could until John came back. He heard a glass hitting the floor, John muttering something  _ _still can't understand__ and his name. It did not take a genius to deduce that John had been shocked, but Sherlock was failing to see what shocking event could have happened when he was away to stun John so.

John walked through the shards of broken glass to close the gap between him and the bed, then hesitantly put his right hand over one of the many scars roaming over Sherlock’s

back.

“Sherlock… what happened to your back?” He paused “You never talked to me about it. I need to know. I… I want to help.”

 

Sherlock flinched. ‘Burns.’

“Sherlock… What happened. Your back Sherlock, what happened? I’ve seen your back before and these scars weren’t there. ...Sherlock...”

John’s hand was still resting on Sherlock’s back. He could feel his exhausted friend drifting off again and knew that given his state sleep would help. So he decided to stay close to his friend to monitor his heart and be sure he rest safely. He took place on the other side of the bed, facing Sherlock and just lying next to him.

Once again he felt heat leave him. He felt both relief and anguish at its loss: relief, because it was not burning him anymore, anguish because he knew that this particular heat was that of John's and that if he didn't feel it, it meant that John was gone. That John had left him. He was alone. He was cold. He was still in pain.

‘John? John?’ he cried in a panicked whisper.

“I”m still there Sherlock, you can rest… I’m here… We can talk later...Just sleep,” John said in a soothing tone, putting his left hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock’s rising panic subsided. He flinched at John's touch still, but his breathing evened out. A very faint smile passed on his lips. He crept closer to John, to the heat he radiated, not quite touching him, not quite wanting to be burnt, but like a moth around a flame, unable to stay away. ‘John? Stay?’ he asked in a faint whisper.

John felt his heart getting warm at the sight of Sherlock’s faint smile. “Course Sherlock. Of course I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere. You can rest,” he said realising his left hand was now in Sherlock’s hair, brushing a lock of curl away from his friend’s eyes. What was he doing ? John never had that kind of gesture for Sherlock before. It was very new. It was true that the situation was different. Sherlock was hurt. He was suffering and vulnerable and he trusted John.

John realised as feeling very moved to see his friend that way. Sherlock was always so proud, so curt.

Being trusted by Sherlock was something John valued beyond anything. And he was feeling compassion for his flatmate.

Sherlock's hand found its way into John's. He squeezed it feebly and let out what from a sober person would have sounded like a contented sigh. He fell asleep, holding John's hand.


	2. Something New.

When he came to, his hand was still in John’s hand, which meant that John was still there with him. He didn’t quite dare open his eyes just yet, as he felt a crushing weight piercing behind his eyes. Laying on his side, almost curled up against John who was  _still there with him who hadn’t abandoned him_...it felt like a dream. He didn’t want it to end.

John had spent the whole night monitoring Sherlock. It could have been much worse, given the amount of heroin in his system. Watching Sherlock sleep had a calming effect on John. Time had passed on the clock, John’s eyes had stayed on his patient. His hand in his too. It was very reassuring to know his friend was there. Safe. John’s mind had been haunted by the sight of  Sherlock’s back all night. Too many scenarios. John’s heart felt very tight at that idea.

Even though he revelled in the warmth John’s body radiated, Sherlock moved slightly, unconsciously letting John know that he was awake.

Sherlock was starting to wake up. John could tell the way his breathing had changed and the discreet way he had shifted a little. He squeezed Sherlock’s hand in his, just to remind his friend he was there for him and waited for him to be fully awake.

Sherlock was awed by John  _ _still__ being there for him. Still holding his hand, and reminding him of it - of everything. He did not remember much of what happened - not  _ _precisely__ \- for him to be in a bed he did not use regularly, and to be in there with John. That John was there with him. That John was still there with him.

‘John?’ he called.

John smiled and squeezed the hand once more, watching his friend open his eyes. Sherlock’s eyes were always fascinating. The color of his eyes was so changeable. Today his eyes were almost grey. Beautiful, he thought.

“Yes Sherlock, I’m here,” he answered softly. “How do you feel? You were in bad shape last night you know...”

Sherlock looked at John, unsure of talking more. Ashamed of saying he didn’t remember. He recalled flashes of injecting heroin into his system, John coming in, John being graybluegreen, of John insisting he take his shirt off and his...holding him?

John’s smile faded and he slightly frowned “You OK?” He removed his hand from Sherlock’s to the man’s forehead to check if the fever was about to come back. But the temperature was normal. Instead of going back in John’s personal space, his hand decided on its own to linger on Sherlock’s hair. John was surprised when he realised it but it didn’t feel weird at all. He had worried about Sherlock all night after all and wanted to make sure he was alright. Now that he thought about it, his friend must have gone through so much… He was about to ask his friend about the scars when something startled him. “Shit” It was his mobile buzzing. Mary. She knew where he was, since it was Mycroft that had sent him there in the first place, but he had completely forgotten to keep her informed about how Sherlock was doing and she must have started to wonder. He picked up and sat down. He cleared his throat before speaking.

 

“Yes Mary… No, he’s alright. Quite. Yes I know… I’m sorry I forgot to call. Sure. Well, I’d rather stay and have lunch here or I doubt he’ll eat anything, you know how he is. Sure. Alright, see you after lunch then. Bye.”

John hung up pursing his lips. He sighed and looked at his friend.

“Right… You must be dehydrated, I’ll make you a cuppa. But first there is something I want to ask you Sherlock.”

He looked right into Sherlock’s eyes.

“Look. I’ve seen your back. You told me you went  _ _under cover__ during these two years, but… I had no idea. You never told me anything else.  _ _Under cover__ where? and what happened? Please, Sherlock. I need to know. You can trust me,” he said as his hand found its way back on the detective’s bare shoulder.

Sherlock looked at John, observed him. His relaxed body language, the  _ _softness__ in his eyes when he had put his hand in his hair had vanished when he realised his phone was buzzing and turned into slight irritation. He had kept his conversation short and his eyes on him. Sherlock wondered why he had, and why there was irritation in his eyes. Then he talked to him, with a pained look on his face, but Sherlock could read in his open and stealthy composure his utter determination to know, to understand, to help, to soothe him and make him better as well as he could read the pain John felt for him. He had always been empathic, but never before had Sherlock noticed how much he was. He averted his eyes.

‘John, I…I am sorry for leaving you behind. I have...not said it enough.’

“I know you are. It’s not about that. I know you had to. I just really need you to tell me. To explain me what happened...There,” he gestured to Sherlock’s back. “Talk to me, Sherlock. Please talk to me. I want to know. I want to know everything.”

Sherlock draped himself in the sheet to hide his back. He turned from John, lowered his head and said in a whisper ‘I am glad you were not there. Serbia was...cold and hard,’ he confessed with a note of latent fear to his voice.

“Serbia...that’s where...you were tortured then.”

John put his hand on Sherlock’s back.

“I should have been there. Together, we would have been able to fight back...I am sorry I wasn’t by your side. I know you disagree Sherlock, but I would have helped you.”

John’s hand left Sherlock’s back so he could wrap his arms around the man. Hugging him from the back and resting his head in the middle of the others man’s shoulder blades.

“I am sorry.”

A shiver went through him as he felt John surrounding him, providing him with a shelter with his body. ‘You have no reason to be sorry for, John,’ Sherlock replied, shoulders slouched when John put words on what happened. ‘It was...It needed to be done if -’

“Don’t be ridiculous!” John answered, a bit harsher than he had wished to. “Please don’t say that,” he said tightening his hold on him. “You’ve never… Nobody ever deserved …  _ _that__!”

Sherlock minutely shook his head and let out a sigh. ‘How can I...How can I proudly wear these scars if the reason for them is blind to their deeper meaning, John?’ Although reluctantly, he moved so as to disengage from John’s embrace.

John’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again to speak to a louder volume.

“How was I supposed to know Sherlock! Tell me  _ _how__. You’ve never told me. You kept me in the dark! You played the game, pushed me away from whatever deal you’ve made with Moriarty!

See what it has done to us? How we are now? It’s your doing! The man is dead! I almost lost you…! I thought I had,” he added in a lower tone squeezing Sherlock’s chest even tighter.

“Please never do that to me again. I won’t survive it. I just can’t.” His voice was breaking and hot tears were filling his eyes.

Sherlock felt a lump in his throat. ‘Didn’t you say you knew me 100%, back then?’ he asked, his voice still a whisper. ‘If not to protect you,  _ _why__ would I have - ‘ he hesitated and put his arms on John’s, holding onto him strongly, returning the hug. ‘Why would I have left  _ _you__ , John?’

“Sherlock,” was all John could answer. That very confession was like a tsunami on his whole world.

Everything he knew about Sherlock. Everything he had believed he knew about him. Could he had been that blind from the start? The  _ _sentiments__ Sherlock had always mocked. Stating to be  _ _married to his work,__ always proclaiming to be disgusted by anything to do with human reactions.  _ _Human errors,__ as he called them. Looking at John with disdain every time he  _ _cared__ for a girl. Taunting his every romantic surge. Everything suddenly made sense. He had known since after the speech Sherlock had given at his wedding that Sherlock cared for him deeply. But that?...that wasn’t respect or deep friendship. Love. That’s what it was. Sherlock loved him. Just as he loved Sherlock.

And how much he loved Sherlock. He would give everything for that man. Everything he had. Everything he was. And even more.

 

Despite having his back to John, he could feel him think and react to his words. His body had tensed, his breathing had caught in his throat, his heart rate had accelerated. He was confounded and shocked, surprised and curious, afraid but  _ _here__.

‘Yes, John. Do not be alarmed, this changes nothing for you. There is nothing to do about it. It is what it is.’

“  _ _Changes nothing?__ Of course it changes things. It changes  _ _everything__!”

John moved to face the man he loved more than life itself and took his face in both his hands.

“  _ _Everything__ you moron,” at these words, John closed the gap between them and gently pressed his lips against Sherlock’s.

Sherlock was stunned into silence. He blinked several times. He could not process what was happening.  _ _Still not awake, am I?__ He felt his body go soft and the warmth he felt in John’s arms turn into a furnace.  _ _Water against fire__ , he thought as he felt his eyes prickling with salty tears, closing his eyes so as not to let them fall although a few of them escaped the barrier of his eyelids and softly rolled onto his cheek.  _ _I should take advantage of that moment. It won’t happen in reality,__ he thought as he returned John’s kiss.

John was crying. Sherlock was crying. They were kissing like the two idiots they were. John kissed Sherlock again, still holding him in his arms, then suddenly chuckled.

“You’re awake Sherlock. This is real. This is us.” He said as he tightened his hold on him.

“I’m an idiot. I love you and I’m a complete plonker.”

Sherlock smiled through his tears, still disbelieving, but melted into John’s tight embrace. ‘No, John. I am. I am an utter idiot. I saw, observed, but did nothing. I need you. You are everything to me, John,’ he said before recapturing John’s lips.

And so they kissed. And kissed, and kissed again for several minutes. As if nothing else existed in the world. John’s hands were all over Sherlock, caressing his back and torso. He suddenly needed to touch him in the same way he needed air.

A loud noise echoed in the silence. And another one. Four times John’s phone sounded his receiving a text message. ‘John. That sound, John,’ said Sherlock breaking the kiss. ‘It’s Mary, John,’ he said, more than a little disappointed and feeling guilty. ‘You have to look at it, John.’

“Right...Of course…” John cleared his throat, picking up his mobile to reveal a series of disturbing texts.

 

[From: Mary]

URGENT

 

[From: Mary]

PAIN

 

[From: Mary]

POSS MISCARRIAGE

 

[From: Mary]

COME HOME NOW!!!

 

“Shit!” John was panicked, eyes still on the screen, a million thought were racing through his head.

“Sherlock. I’ve got to go. I’m sorry. It’s the baby, something’s wrong!”

His lips quickly brushed Sherlock’s one last time before he backed off in a hurry to pick up his jacket. Sherlock caught John’s wrist and looked at him with passion in his eyes. ‘Together, John. Let me come with you.’

John’s lips curved into a smile. ”Of course. Together. Come on, quickly Sherlock!”

Sherlock, still only wearing his unfastened trousers, grabbed a shirt and a jacket which he passed on as quickly as he could. He was not about to abandon John in this time of need. Once was more than enough. When he had put his armour of a coat and scarf on, they hurried out of the living room and ran down the stairs before Sherlock hailed a cab. It was not a game, still excitement was running through his veins. Being with John as they ran into a dangerous emotional situation -  _ _All emotions are dangerous__ supplied his brain - was exhilarating.

  



	3. Demise.

They arrived at John and Mary’s house in Kensington twenty minutes later. John fumbling with his keys and yelling Mary’s name. She was in the bathroom, curled on the tiled floor. Face contorted and hands on her belly.

John wasn’t an obstetrician but knew enough to check the first symptoms. It wasn’t good. He dialed for an ambulance and the three of them waited for it to arrive. John verbally encouraging Mary to hold on, that everything would be fine.

Upon seeing John’s panicked reaction, Sherlock could only empathise. He  who had claimed for so long to be above all emotions and not feel any was empathising with John’s pain. With Mary’s, even despite what had transpired between John and him. He crouched on the floor next to Mary, adding his voice to John’s - John was such a bad liar…! - speaking in a reassuring voice, to Mary’s benefit but also for John’s. He wanted to touch John his reassurance and so he did, placing the palm of his hand on the small of his back.

They weren’t allowed in the exam room. Nor in surgery, as it turned out the embryo hadn’t survived and that they had to remove it to prevent infections.

So they waited. John had paced at first then had relinquished and sat, fixing the floor as his guilt had devoured him. Eventually, the surgeon came to let them know that surgery had been successful and that his wife was resting in her room. He told him to let her rest for now.

John thanked the surgeon and finished his coffee. Then he looked at Sherlock.

“I know it’s probably the worst timing ever. But I’m gonna have to tell her.”

Sherlock nodded. ‘Yes, I agree. This is an extremely bad timing. But then again, there never are  _ _good__ timings in such cases. I will wait for you in the corridor then,’ he told John, touching his arm in a light touch that promised more.

Sherlock’s touch reassured John. Made him feel a little stronger and not alone in this mess.

He took a breath and pushed his wife’s bedroom door open. She was there. Lying awake but exhausted. Her eyes were red from the tears she must have shed learning the life inside her was no more. The life they had created together. She and John.

He closed the door behind him and reached her bed to kiss her forehead.

“I’m sorry Mary. I really am.” He said clutching her hand in his.

‘John...our child, John...she...we will have  _ _never__ held her. How will we get through this, John?’ she asked, tears falling down her face as she clutched John’s hand more strongly.

“Mary…” He said in a very gentle voice “You know it wasn’t a child yet. It was an embryo. You’re hurting yourself thinking that way.” A pause “It just wasn’t meant to be… You can still conceive… I know it’s hard. I lost that hope too.”

‘  _ _We__ , you mean.  _ _We__ can still conceive.’

John tried to hide his discomfort at her words. And failed.

‘John...Don’t you…? Don’t you think this is  _ _absolutely__   _ _not__  the right time to do this?’ she asked, incredulous.

John sighed. He had to do it and he might as well do it now, like taking off a plaster.

“Mary… You know you and I…. that marriage wasn’t working. The kid would have suffered. You know I’m right.” He pursed his lips “We’ll still be friends. It doesn’t need to change that!”

‘What do you mean,  _ _that m__ arriage  _ _wasn’t__ working? What  _ _happened__ , John?’ she replied, disbelieving, on the verge of breaking down, but trying to hold on a façade of dignity - not with the greatest results.

“You know bloody well what I mean Mary. It just wasn’t. We could at least stop pretending with each other, mm?”

‘Fine. Yes. Our marriage is not perfect. And while we’re not pretending, John tell me  _ _what the fuck happened__ for you to be so determined to put an end to our  _ _marriage__ \- a sacred union in God’s eyes, I’ll have you know, in case you’ve forgotten - when we  _ _fucking just lost our child__!’ she exclaimed, all pretense of calm lost to the winds, leaving only anger, wrath and despair to her shaking voice.

“Oh come on, don’t talk to me about  _ _God__ , you said you weren’t a believer! ...You know, I always found it suspicious that your whole family happened to have disappeared. Quite convenient don’t you think? Not even an uncle or an aunt… just no one.”

‘Just answer my question, John! What  _ _happened__?’ she deflected.

“Oh you want to know what happened? Maybe I made a deduction or two Mary, maybe I’m not the half-wit that everybody seems to take me for! So, don’t you have anything to say to me?...”

‘Sherlock.  _ _He__ is what happened.  _ _Sherlock__ ,’ she said, choking on angry tears.

“Leave him out of it, this has nothing to do with him Marry. Nothing! He’s been through enough as it is so don’t you drag him into the mess of our marriage!” He had raised his voice quite considerably and his breathing was quicker. Anger had crept over him as soon as she had mentioned Sherlock’s name.

‘’He’s been through enough’,’ she scoffed. ‘The person who forced you to witness him commit suicide. The person who  _ _lied__ to you about this for  _ _two years__! Good God! how many times have you cried about this? The person who did all that and treated you as a simple distraction, the person who took you for granted...the person who came back with a  _ _stupid fucking smile on his face__!’ she exclaimed, her voice increasingly louder. ‘And what do you do? You run to him like a puppy?’

“For God’s sake Mary, he had to do it! There was a sniper aiming at me, Mrs.Hudson and Greg, he explained everything, he just had no choice!”

‘Oh, he explained everything, didn’t he? Of course he would. Why would you  _ _believe__ the lies he tells you? He  _ _still__ takes you for granted, John. And he  _ _always__ will. That’s why he lies to you, the way he lies to everyone else. Because he knows that you’re too st-’

“I’m too what? Come on, say it aloud, I know you’re dying to say it Mary. You think it so loudly that words are starting to print themselves on your face, and I’ll tell you something, it’s not pretty. Not pretty at all!”

‘And certainly not as pretty as the thought of you kneeling down, submissive and  _ _begging__ for him to  _ _give it to you__ , to fuck you like the worthless, __stupid__ bitch you are!’

John’s face fell at her words. How dare she? What he and Sherlock had was nothing like this, it was pure and beautiful and - She had no right. John’s hand that had been clenching and unclenching for the last few minutes raised on its own and stopped inches from her face. Oh, how he would have slapped her. But no. He was better than this. He wouldn’t fall for her petty mind tricks. He just wouldn’t. Instead he inhaled deeply and put his hand back in his trouser’s pocket.

“Tell me Mary. Was it at least mine? The baby. Or was it David’s? ‘Cause I’m not blind you know. You might find me stupid. I may not be the smartest guy in the room but I do know a thing or two. And now that we’re splitting up you can at least be honest with me. That’s what you were doing, right ? Telling me what you really think,” he said looking at her intensely.

‘How? How can you speak of David and me…? How can you...suggest...very strongly...that I cheated on you? That I lied to you? I’m sorry you feel that way, John - ‘

“Oh you’re sorry now? After what you said… Right, you know what? You can’t even speak frankly with me? Look at this,” he said as he took his wedding ring off to present it right in front of her eyes. “You see this? It’s over. We’re done!”  

‘Don’t you dare…!’ she growled.

“Watch me!” he said opening the window to get rid of the damn ring. And with that, he just threw the jewelry right through the window., a satisfied smile on his face.

Mary’s face hardened. ‘Get out. Leave,’ she uttered in an icy, emotionless voice.

“With pleasure!” John retorted, storming off out of the room, not bothering to even close the door behind him.

Mary was stunned speechless. This was a turn of event she had not been expecting. She knew that Sherlock viewed her husband as more than a best friend, he was transparent to everyone. Everyone except John, which was just as well. But she never thought for a second that John would return his sentiment...Nor would she have thought him able to deduce who the real father was. She was frozen to the core at having been so utterly  _ _wrong__.

Out of Mary’s room, John strode along the corridor, making his way to the hospital waiting room, in hope to spot Sherlock. But no sign of the familiar silhouette.

 


	4. Weakness.

Bent over the washing basin in the lavatory, hands clutching it so hard his knuckles turned white, head bent low, breathing shallow, Sherlock had to make the greatest efforts to cling to the silent promise he had made to John  _even if only in my mind...even if only a figment of my imagination...this promise to John is sacred. I should not...But this is so hard...That beautiful moment...it’s leaving already. I have to go back...I...It is so beautiful, so pure ...I need to have more…_ Sobs were caught in his chest as he breathed in and went inside a cubicle.

 

John entered the men’s bathrooms anxious about what he could find. He quickly looked under the three cubicles and instantly recognised Sherlock’s feet. “Sherlock...You in there?”

Sherlock’s sobs had become louder. ‘John?’ he asked in a broken voice, almost a whisper.

“Sherlock, are you OK in there?” He said putting a hand to the door.

‘I...I will be in a moment,’ was Sherlock’s answer.

“Right… You sure?... I’m here if you need me.”

Something was wrong with Sherlock’s voice. Of course the man was an excellent actor but John knew him by now...It took John less than 20 seconds to put two and two together before breaking the padlock of the door kicking it open. What he saw then made his blood run cold. Sherlock had his left sleeve rolled up, ready with a tourniquet and was holding a syringe in his right hand. On the lid of the toilet seat was spread the whole kit. A spoon, a lighter, a tiny vial, some tiny portion of aluminium foil and a sheet of toilet paper. The bastard was about to shoot up.

“Sherlock, WHAT THE HELL!”

John violently grabbed him by the arm, letting the syringe fall on the dirty floor.

“What do you think you’re doing? God, you’re such an arsehole!”

Sherlock looked at John, frozen and confused. Why was John reacting so...Oh. John was not letting go of his arm even after the syringe had fallen, however. Sherlock looked at him and even in his confused state, could read in John’s expressive face all the hurt, the pain, the betrayal he had gone through with Mary in that hospital room. These same feelings, as well as fear and sheer panic, had not left precisely because of what he had been about to do. He should have waited for him in the corridor like he had told him he would. He should not have walked away and hid after John had been with Mary for five minutes. He was not worthy of John’s earlier declaration. He should not have started hoping he could, he would ever have a chance at having even the smallest importance to John, he should never have hoped there was even the smallest, the tiniest chance a part of John’s heart could be his. John was certainly in his, entirely. And he had hurt him.

Sherlock locked his eyes onto John’s for the briefest of moments and burst into loud weeping. He would have fallen to the floor had John not been holding his arm in a tight grip.

‘John…,’ he started. ‘Why do you...care...so much…? ...Not worthy...of you,’ he said, voice broken and shaken by violent sobs.

“Oh shut up you big idiot, come here,” he said dragging the man into a hug.

“What on Earth were you thinking?”

Sherlock did not answer. How could he answer that? He was always thinking. He let John hug him and melted into it, still crying violently.

John was rocking Sherlock in his arms. He seemed so broken, right now in that tiny cubicle.

“Hush, it’s ok. It’s gonna be ok, I’ve got you now.” He kept whispering reassuring words in Sherlock’s ears. Craddling him gently like a treasure he cherished.

‘I was...losing you...you were...going away,’ he snivelled. ‘I had to find you again. Before it was gone,’ he added.

“I’m here now Sherlock, I’m here… I’ll never leave you again," he said kissing his head.

“We’ll do what it takes together… We’re gonna find you some help. I’ll be there for you all the way, I promise. But no more of this please. I don’t want to lose you because of … this. You’re worth so much more than this.” he added while getting rid of Sherlock’s tourniquet and massaging his left arm.

‘John, I…You’re the only help I need,’ he confessed, hypnotised by John’s hand on his arm. His touch was warm, his presence soothing. ‘I don’t...want to lose you, either. You’re...you’re the one who makes it...worthwhile.’

“Sherlock… Come on, let’s go home.”

John kissed Sherlock’s head one last time before releasing him and threw the whole  _ _drug kit__ in the bin.

  



	5. Poison Down the Drain.

Later that evening, they both arrived at Baker street exhausted with a bag of Chinese takeaway.

‘John, er. Before we eat, I… -’

“Yes?” John looked at Sherlock licking his lips.

‘Well,’ he started, distracted by John’s lips licking. ‘You said ‘‘no more of this’’,’ he continued.  _ _This is going to be hard...__ ‘I want you to see…I want you to…’

John suddenly realised what Sherlock was talking about.

“Oh. You mean... You still have drugs in the flat?”

Sherlock looked at the ground. ‘Yes,’ he admitted in shame. ‘I’m going to get rid of them, of course. But I…’ he hesitated before looking up to fix his eyes to John’s ‘I will need your help. John. Please?’

John squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “Of course I’ll help. I want to be there for you. We’ll do it together then, alright? Just tell me where you want me to look.”

‘Well...er...This is...awkward,’ he said, looking away.

“Come on Sherlock, it’s me…. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. I’m a doctor you know. And your friend. Well...More than your friend,’ he said raising their joined hands to kiss Sherlock’s knuckles. He looked right into Sherlock’s eyes doing so with a tender smile.

“I won’t judge you. I promise.”

‘In er, in several places,’ he admitted. ‘In every room of the flat,’ he continued, disentangling his hand from John’s.

“In every room? Ok, sure… I understand, don’t worry,” John replied, ready to follow Sherlock through the whole process.

Sherlock looked at him sheepishly. They were in the living room, not the room in which there were the most caches... John had absent-mindedly taken Sherlock’s Rubik’s cube.

‘This,’ Sherlock said, looking pointedly at what John was holding, ‘is as good a place to start as any.’ John raised an eyebrow. “The cube?”

Sherlock nodded. ‘Open it.’

“Does it open? ..How?”

‘You have to solve it.’ At John’s disbelieving expression, he added ‘Only half of it. Green, blue and orange faces.” John did as he was told and the cube opened to reveal a small packet of white powder which John supposed to be cocaine. He took the sachet out of its hiding and closed the cube. “Alright...Let’s get rid of it now then, shall we?” He kissed Sherlock’s forehead and went to empty the tiny bag in the toilet bowl.

Sherlock sighed.  _ _This is going to be long and hard, but it’s worth it. Worth the pain and the shame.__ He walked on his desk and took the bull’s skull from the wall. With practised ease, he unscrewed the headphones and retrieved a packet of white powder. Heroin.  _ _It has to go, even if it’s not the purest I have here.__ He proceeded to take more packets from the inside the skull.

John gave Sherlock an encouraging look. A look that was trying to say  _ _I’m proud of you__ and  _ _you can do this.__ As he watched Sherlock take more and more of the furniture apart, revealing places John never had thought about, an anxious feeling crept over him. He tried to push it away of course, but there are things you can’t get rid off that easily. And trust issues… Well, you can’t kill an idea, as Sherlock once said.

He trusted Sherlock though. And he really wanted to believe in him. Genuinely.

Sherlock stopped abruptly. He grunted and sighed, then looked at John. ‘I am sorry...I’m sorry for what I’m putting you through, John. It’s painful, I know.’ He marked a short pause. ‘The living room is empty, now. But there are other rooms,’ he said taking a step in the direction of the kitchen. There he disclosed several places where he had hidden drugs to John. Near the kettle. Inside power sockets. On the shelves, hidden in tin boxes marked  _ _Spice__. He looked apologetically at John, and went to the bathroom. He opened the bath, revealing a large quantity of the same white powder, methodically classified and labelled. There was a large amount of syringes, unwrapped, kept in a cardboard box, and other paraphernalia for him to shoot up. He opened the pills closet and took a sachet out of it.  _ _Lying next to my toothbrush.__

He threw a repentant look to John, opened the glass wall that separated the bathroom from his bedroom and went in, John following him. He heard him sigh softly. ‘I am sorry, John. I want to do this. I  _ _need__ to do it. And I need you to be with me for that,’ he declared, picking up his violin case.

“No it’s alright Sherlock, I understand. I want to support you through this. I said I would and I will. That’s...very brave of you to do so. I respect that and I want you to know it.” He believed what he said. But the violin case?...Even in the violin case then? Wow. It was a new lever.

He brushed his fingers against the case before opening it. Unlike the countless times he had done so, it was not reverent. It was...solemn, yes, but with a deeper gravity to it. Softly, delicately, he caressed the violin inside and took it out, revealing a draft of the music he had written for John’s wedding. He lifted the paper and took a small packet out, barely concealed in the silky fabric of the case. He didn’t need to really conceal it: no one apart from him opened this. It was the representation of his heart, after all.  _ _What does it say about my heart, I wonder.__

John had followed Sherlock in his bedroom and painfully watched him remove the hidden sachet.  _ _His violin__. Sherlock loved his violin. His addiction must had devoured him and he had no control over it anymore, no matter what he said. John gently took the drugs from Sherlock’s hands and went to flush it like he had just done with the rest. Surely, they were nearly done by now.

When John took the small bag out of his hands, Sherlock brushed their fingers together, asking for support. ‘This is not the last of it, I’m afraid.’

“Oh? You weren’t joking then...It’s fine. We’ll get rid of it together. I promised you,” John said in a resigned tone.

Sherlock opened the nightstand next to his bed and took a small, beautiful black case out.  _ _Delicate leather. Resistant.__ He opened it.  _ _Deadly__ , he amended, taking the syringe out of it. ‘It is one of the few old, vintage syringes I have. Inside it is a … strong, potent solution. A mix of cocaine and heroin. Laced with various chemicals.’

As Sherlock showed him more and more hidden packets of drugs, John’s stature was more and more defeated. Even though he kept trying to have comforting words.

“  _ _The stairs__???” He sighed and helped to unlock the package of illicit substance from under one of the steps leading to their flat. He understood now why that particularly one always had squeaked. Jesus. It was going to be a long night.

A look of deep, bottomless remorse appeared on his features. He barely dared look John in the eye, and made his way up to the last room of the flat.

John was following Sherlock around. He froze a moment when Sherlock was about to climb the stairs to his old room. “Sherlock… Even ...  _ _there?__ ” From the middle floor he looked at his friend that had almost reached the third floor now. “But… It was  _ _my__ room…” he said with sadness in his voice, now climbing as well to join his friend. ‘  _ _That was the point ,’__ he mumbled. He opened John’s former wardrobe and extracted every single sachet hidden inside, before he sat on the bed, the sheets still pulled as a military man would have them. ‘I am so, so sorry, John,’ he declared, opening the drawer of the nightstand and getting a tourniquet, taking another syringe from under the pillow. John ran both his hands through his short hair in frustration.

“Sherlock...I had no idea it was  _ _that__ bad. I should have  _ _seen__ it. I should have  _ _been there__ for you... You  _ _needed__ me. And I wasn’t there. I’m the one who’s sorry,” he declared sitting on the bed next to him to hold him in his arms. They stayed like this a moment in silence, only listening to each other’s breathing and heartbeat. Then John asked. “Did you use to come here often then? I mean, you did it in my room? Right there?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. It was going to be a difficult confession. Thoughts of  _ _lying, unworthy, unreliable scum__ flowed through his mind. He bent his head and clutched his hands together. ‘Yes. More than should ever be acceptable,’ he confessed.

John hold him a bit tighter. His heart was crushed by invisible hands.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all this on your own. I can’t even imagine how it must have been... I’m here now darling,” he whispered.

“I’ll stay with you. I promise Sherlock.”

He unclenched his hands and put them on John’s forearms. Tears did not fall from his eyes this time, but he was heavily crying inside at John’s forgiveness and on the outside his breathing hitched as if he were. John was unbelievably still there with him, hugging him, promising to stay with him. He started rocking, overwhelmed as he was by John’s faith in him, in  _ _them__ , distraught at having lied and deceived to such an extent. ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered.

John’s lips brushed his jaw to depose a gentle kiss.

“Now listen to me. You have nothing to apologise for. You’ve done nothing wrong love. Nothing. You were suffering, you were alone, and you did what you had to survive. We’re gonna get through this. You’re gonna get clean. I’ll do everything I can to help you. It’s not gonna be easy. And we’ll both probably be very angry at each other sometimes, but we’ll manage. We love each other. And we lost so much time already. I want you. I want all of you Sherlock. The good and the bad. If you trust me enough and if you agree to have me by your side from now on, I’ll never let you down again. I should never have married. I was lost, I was angry at you, and Mary… well, she was there. I thought I could fool myself and forget you. I thought it was safer for me to convince myself. To try to have a go at a more conventional life. I was wrong Sherlock, I was so wrong. You’re the one I want to be with, you hear me? You and no one else on Earth.”

John buried his nose in Sherlock’s neck to feel him more. It was so reassuring. After all this. Years of grief. Of anger at him. Of misunderstanding. He deeply loved the man and it wasn’t about to change. Sherlock was back. He was back and he was here and he needed him. John was ready to do anything from now on and never let anything ever come between them.

The two of them against the rest of the world.

‘John,’ he said ‘I...Thank you,’ he amended, taking John’s hands in his. ‘Thank you for being the- You have taken your ring off,’ he declared.

John smiled. “I have, yes.” His stomach chose that moment to make a sound meaning it needed to be filled. John chuckled in embarrassment.

“Right… You hungry? Cause I am.”

A warm feeling spread in his chest. John had given up on his marriage, explicitly so. He turned his head and looked at John, a twinkle in his eyes, a wide smile on his lips. ‘Starving,’ he replied.

  



	6. Mitigation.

They were sitting at the kitchen table to have breakfast. John had insisted for Sherlock to eat a toast. And the tea was brewing. The atmosphere between them was tender, even if they both still were under the backlash of the previous day events.

Sherlock was chewing on his piece of toast absent-mindedly when John’s voice broke the silence.

“Greybluegreen...” He said hesitantly, looking at Sherlock with what seem to be curiosity.

Sherlock locked his eyes on John.

‘Mh, sorry, what?’

“  _ _Greybluegreen__. You said that...when you … when you were delirious,” he added in a lower tone, hoping the reminder wouldn’t put Sherlock in a gloomy mood.

The piece of toast in his hand suddenly held all his attention. He was making a large effort in having actual,  _ _solid__ breakfast, he  _ _had__ accomplished a herculean task the previous evening. It had ended well  _ _more than that__ , but it had been...emotionally  _ _draining__. He would of course stop using. John  _ _had__ said ‘no more of this’ and Sherlock intended to please and obey him - he also was aware that using was not a healthy habit for  _ _anyone__ and that John as a doctor would find it doubly so. But why should they talk about...that? It had happened, it was over, there was no need to revisit something so unpleasant, so  _ _distressing__. John was smart, even if Sherlock had not told him the reason why he had got off the wagon again, he would have reasoned it out - the emotional way if not the logical way.

He continued to observe the piece of toast in his hand, avoiding meeting John in the eye.

John’s hand crossed the table to touch Sherlock’s holding the piece of toast.

“Listen, I understand if you don’t want to tell me what you hallucinated back then. But eventually, you’ll have to talk about it. If not me… maybe to someone. Someone professional.” He sighed.

“I assume you’ll have to endure withdrawal symptoms soon anyway… I want to help you Sherlock, but you’re gonna have to guide me there. It was very brave what you did yesterday, and I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for you. But if you want to continue what you started, you have to decide how.”

Sherlock continued contemplating his piece of toast for a moment, bit in it, helped himself to some tea, took a sip of it and met John’s eyes, albeit bashfully. His tone of voice was soft and low. ‘Of course, I want to continue, John. I...I know I don’t want to...I don’t want to lose you,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll do what it takes to make sure of not risking losing you.’

John’s hand tighten around Sherlock’s. “You won’t lose me Sherlock. You just won’t. I told you I’d be there for you and I will do everything I can to help. I really mean it. I know it won’t be easy and I’m frankly quite not sure what to expect… But we will get through this. Together.”

John gave Sherlock an encouraging smile, hoping his… what?  _ _Friend? Lover?__ No word could describe what that man was to him. His  _ _everything__. Hoping Sherlock would trust him. That he would have faith in them both and know John would be there no matter what.

‘Thank you, John. I...I don’t know how to proceed. I don’t want to go to a rehabilitation facility, Mycroft...I  _ _do__ want to stop using. I want you to be by my side. You’ve said you’d be with me, but…’ he cut his sentence and looked at John. ‘I’m not sure you’ll be able to bear it. I barely can.’

“Don’t doubt yourself Sherlock, you’ve done it before. I know you can do it again. And of course I will help you. Anything. Anything you need... I’ll be there,’ he declared looking right into Sherlock’s eyes.

‘Yes, John. I’ve done it before. How astute of you to note. I said I  _ _barely__ can, not that I  _ _can’t__ bear myself in withdrawal at all,’ he snapped. Realising what he had said and how he said it, he looked to the side over the wall and the smiley face he had sprayed there.

‘I am sorry,’ he said in a soft, apologetic voice.

John’s lips were forming a thin tight line. “Sherlock… You don’t have to apologise.”

He raised from his chair and turn around the table to come closer then put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I know it’s scary. I imagine Mycroft put you somewhere he thought would help… But … Listen, you’re an adult, you know what’s good for you and you perfectly have the right to choose how you want to do it. I trust you. I have faith in you. You’re Sherlock Holmes for God’s sake! You can do anything.”

‘Thank you for having faith in me. What’s good for me...Yes, I think I do,’ he said, looking John purposely in the eye.

John’s lips curved into a small smile as he squeezed his friend’s shoulder.

“So… I know you won’t like to talk about it Sherlock but I need to know what is coming…”

‘You better wrap up warm, John. There’s an east wind coming,’ Sherlock replied tongue-in-cheek. Chastised by John’s stern look, however, he added ‘Where do I begin? How many times? Where? How was I?’ he sighed. ‘Tell me what you want to know,’ he said.

“Sherlock… I’m a bloody doctor, I do have an idea about the symptoms. However, it is not particularly my field. I admit I did look it up. Mostly because of you, but I’d rather hear what you have to say. If you agree to trust me…”

‘Of course I trust you, John!’ Sherlock exclaimed incredulously. ‘The...physical symptoms are not, I think, too difficult to handle. Just transport signifying it’s not happy about the change. Shivering, fevers, shaking…involuntary muscle movement,’ he added as the muscles of his cheek twitched. ‘Of any muscle,’ he added as his leg kicked in the air. Shame settled on his features. ‘Other...reactions by my body. You know. When you’ve caught the flu and your body wants to...get rid of it...the effects of withdrawal are somewhat similar - even if they are much more violent.’

“Of course,” John nodded and rubbed Sherlock’s back in an encouraging gesture.

“I will prescribe you some Suboxone it will help you through the first few days at least. In fact, I might have some left in my medical kit, I just need to pick it up at my place… I mean at Mary’s place. I’ll take my things back while I’m there.”

‘No. John, no.’

John gave Sherlock a surprised look. “Maybe some Benadryl then? It’s just to help you for the first days and it won’t change anything! You’ll also need vitamins and tea. But you know that already, of course.”

‘No, nothing. No medication. Vitamins, tea and more vitamins, I can work with that. But no medication. It didn’t work well enough last time. Why bother?’

“You’re serious then? ...Alright. Your way. Always your way Sherlock. Always,” he said giving Sherlock’s shoulder one more squeeze.

‘You’re not going to argue more? Shout? Make me submit to  _ _that__...particular method of treatment?’ he asked, still disbelieving. ‘Because you have to know, John. I will not be pleasant to be around. I’ll be mean, even to you, especially to you. I’ll be more arrogant, ruder than you ever thought I could be. Everything...everything you made me aware of...everything a bit not good I used to say...I will say them again. Behave in the same way. Only...only worse,’ he concluded in a whisper. ‘You must be prepared, John. The man I am today...is not the man I will be when the real withdrawal kicks in. I’ll be desperate. I’ll be mean. I’ll shout and I’ll cry. I’ll beg and I’ll plead. I’ll be paranoid. You must not let any of these get to you, John,’ Sherlock said firmly, taking John’s forearms in his hands, locking their eyes together.

“I won’t. We agreed to do this together and I will stand by your side this time. No matter how much of a dick you become,” he said with a small smile before kissing him gently.

Sherlock replied in kind. ‘Go and get your things back. And come back to me quickly. I’ll prepare for the dreadful times ahead,’ he said as he turned away to walk down to the bathroom. The now  _ _empty__ bathroom. Well. Given the shaken state he was in last evening, he might have missed a sachet or two, but John will most certainly have taken care of it. ‘Oh, and...that thing I said. ‘Graybluegreen’? That’s how I heard you when you came home to...me off my tits. Terrified. Sad. Angry,’ he declared, ashamed of the effects of the drugs to be so powerful that they made him associate sounds with colours.

“Ha. Well. Thank you for the explanation,” John replied, unsure how to react to that statement. “I won’t be long,” he said putting his empty teacup in the sink.

“Maybe you should try to do something to relax...Like having a bath for example. I should be back in an hour at the most. Will you be OK?” he asked in a softer tone.

‘Of course I’ll be, why wouldn’t I be? I can be left without supervision for an  _ _hour__ ,’ he replied snarkily, going inside the bathroom and running himself a bath.

  



	7. Surprise.

Three hours later, John pushed 221B’s door open, his hands full with two suitcases and a backpack. He had put his set of keys back in the letter box hoping that Mary would find it.

He knew he would still have to contact a lawyer and prepare himself for a divorce. Thinking about it, he realised that Mycroft probably knew decent lawyers. He would have to ask him. Even if meeting with Mycroft was never a walk in the parc.

He caught no sign of Sherlock in the flat and assumed he was probably taking a nap in his own room, since the effects of the withdrawal must have started. So he went to his old bedroom to drop off his things first.

Only when he pushed his bedroom’s door, Sherlock’s silhouette was curled up on his bed. From the threshold, John could only see his back. He wondered for a moment if Sherlock was asleep and decided to tiptoe just in case. He reached the tiny dresser just to get rid of his burden, knowing he would come back to organise his clothes later.

Wide awake, all senses wide open, Sherlock heard John enter his room, most likely smile at seeing him there, heard him put his...  _ _two suitcases and backpack__ on the floor near the dresser and turn around once more. Sherlock sat up. He knew that his burgundy dressing gown made him look even more attractive to John than he already was. He had put great care in setting the scene, spent some time in front of the mirror to put his hair in strategic disarray, used a self-esteem boost.

‘John. You’re back,’ he paused. ‘I’ve been waiting for you for  _ _hours__ ,’ he added in a sultry voice.

“Oh you’re awake then! Yeah, there was an accident and the bloody traffic was stuck,” replied John in a grumpy tone. “You OK?”

‘No, John. I’m not okay. I’ve waited for you  _ _for hours__ ,’ he pouted. ‘I missed you. Make it better.’

John sighed.

“Right… Should I make you some tea then? You probably need to eat something as well, it’s past lunch time” He said looking at his watch.

‘Jawn,’ he whined. ‘Eating’s boring.’

John smiled at that mention.

“Bored already then? I’m glad you’re holding up that well in fact. I know you insisted on doing it your way… But just in case you change your mind, I took my medicine kit back, just so you know…”

Sherlock got up from John’s bed and walked close to him. ‘I’m fine. When it comes to that particular issue,’ he said looking at John, dangerously invading his personal space. ‘On another...  _ _issue__...Jawn. Make. It. Better,’ he demanded, his eyes descending unequivocally to John’s lips. ‘I need you,’ he breathed in his ear. ‘Now,’ he growled.

John’s left eyebrow raised to his hairline. It was warmer between them since they had acknowledged their mutual feelings, but Sherlock never had shown that type of behaviour before. John cleared his throat as an answer, still looking skeptically at Sherlock.

Sherlock closed the gap between their bodies, pressing himself, softly, against John and captured his eyes. ‘I need you, John. I...I want you. I want you so bad it hurts. I’ve wanted you for so long…’’

“Sherlock...I’ve wanted you too...I thought...You didn’t  _ _do__ this,” he answered welcoming Sherlock in his arms.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. ‘This? No.  _ _You...__ yes,’ he whispered. ‘The things I will do to  _ _you__ , John. You have no idea.’

John chuckled. It was so unlike Sherlock. But that type of relationship between them was new and It wasn’t unpleasant at all to see Sherlock outrageously flirt with him that way.

“No idea? You really think so?” he said smiling, half rocking the man in his arms a bit as if they were dancing.

Sherlock grabbed one of John’s hands and brought it to his lips. He licked the inside of John’s wrist, pinning him with the intensity of his gaze, turning the twinkle of mild interest into something more. ‘Yes, John. I really think so. I’m sure of it,’ he replied, pressing himself against John harder than he did earlier.

John suddenly felt he had trouble breathing. He tried to swallow. God. Sherlock was incredibly sexy like this and he  _ _was__ teasing him. It was rather unexpected but so intoxicating he couldn’t resist. He was like a moth before a flame. Sherlock continued looking at him with predatory eyes, noting his body reacting, his attempt at swallowing  _ _Interesting,__ his pupils dilating, his heartbeat so strong he could hear it. Sherlock’s gaze became heady for an instant. ‘John. Tell me. Tell me you want me, tell me you want  _ _this__.’

John’s voice was very low. “Course I do.Sherlock,” he replied, his eyes still hypnotised by Sherlock’s.

Sherlock scanned his  _ _flatmate’s? friend’s? lover’s?__ face for any lingering doubt. He didn’t see any and captured John’s lips in a hungry kiss. It had been quite some time since he had kissed anyone like this, even more than it had been since he had been in a physical, intimate relationship with anyone. After all, he had deemed them uninteresting and not worth his time early on. Until they became  _ _necessary__  and more interesting when a new… element had come into his life. They were  _ _very__  interesting indeed, but he had not indulged in such activities for quite some time. Returning to it was... _ _breathtaking__  and when John joined him it would be  _ _earth shattering__.

John was returning Sherlock’s kiss. His hands running in the man’s hair, caressing his dark curls.  _ _So soft__ he thought. Sherlock was too busy kissing John and registering with pleasure his hands in his hair to stop for breath. His instincts had taken over, and he lost himself in John, turning him towards the bed, pushing him onto the bed, deftly unbuttoning his shirt and exploring him.  _ _This is a very promising adventure__ , he thought as he watched John assent to the promise of more etched in every one of his action.

John’s head was spinning. Sherlock was all over him. He had wanted this so badly for so long. He never had thought it would become real one day. On his old bed.

Rapturous, Sherlock took John and delved with him into territories they would continue exploring together, rendering the qualification ‘uncharted territory’ moot.

  



	8. Consequences.

Two hours later, John was lying naked in his bed, wrapped in a sheet, still dizzy with the aftermath of what would never make him think about sex the same way again.

Sherlock could hardly believe what happened. With  _ _John__. He had  _ _barely just__ processed they were an item, but he would not undo this. This was precious. He  _ _could not__ undo this. He had lied. Again. To John.  _ _Again.__ He had been so afraid, so terrified John would not be coming back to him, to his drug addicted self. He was a  _ _waste__. A waste who did not stop lying, who did not stop deceiving. He could not be trusted. He was a coagulation of rotten greed. John should not come in contact with him. Should not  _ _have__ come in contact with him. Coming back...coming back had been a mistake. Sherlock Holmes had made an incredibly stupid and dangerous mistake. He should not be surprised. That’s what he was. Stupid. He always was so stupid. Anyone with half a brain would have  _ _known__ that John Watson would  _ _move on__ and forget his idiot, his fraud of a flatmate. But he came back. Despite everyone telling him that it was not entirely impossible that he not be welcome. And he was not. John eventually caved in and seemed to have forgiven him. The truth was that he had lied and kept on lying. John should not be tainting his purity with the likes of  _ _him__. He turned away from John and curled up on himself.

After a moment of blissfully gazing at the ceiling John noticed that Sherlock was silent and that his breathing seemed...a bit too slow. John turned his head to see if his lover had dozed off, but he could only see Sherlock’s scarred back. He had the impulse to touch it. Hoping not to wake him up.  

He had turned self-deprecation into an art-form - but was it still considered ‘self  _ _deprecation__ ’ when it was true…? His train of thoughts halted. He had felt the lightest touch on his back. Although addled by endorphins and coming down from the boost he had given his self esteem earlier, his brain sent him violent waves of shame. He shivered and flinched to John’s touch.

“I didn’t mean to startle you...You okay Sherlock?” Said John suddenly a bit worried.

‘Hm,’ was all Sherlock could manage. He tried to relax  _ _one would think you were already relaxed what with…-Oh, shut up!__ under John’s hand, but could not bring his body to hide the shame he felt at his behaviour.

John instantly knew something was wrong. Sherlock had been nothing but  _ _utterly vocal__ during the past hour and suddenly, his behaviour was  _ _very silent__ then cold and distant. All of this forebode more than a bit of not good. Conscious than he was walking on eggshells, John proceeded to get closer nonetheless. ”Sherlock…” He tried again “You don’t seem right… Is it the withdrawal ? Is it starting to get too bad? Please turn around, I would like to see you,” he added rubbing the detective’s back gently.

__Look how he is! All decent and caring and full of trust… Yet what did you do? You lied and lied. You’re right to be ashamed of yourself. You have to tell him, of course. There have already been too many lies, because you do not trust him with the truth, because you’re too afraid of your own weaknesses...It is just a game to you, a game of deceit. You are nothing but a fraud. A lying, abusive fraud. Lying will not protect you. John said what did, a lifetime ago. Friends protect people. You have to come clean if you want to continue trying this…_ _

‘J-John,’ he whispered shakily. ‘I’m not all right,’ he said as he turned around, his eyes shining. When John did not say anything, did not do anything but  _ _look__ at him, Sherlock averted his eyes. ‘John, I...It  _ _can’t__ be withdrawal. Not now. I… I...John, I…’ he stuttered, reflexively trying to catch John’s hand before removing his  _ _Leave him alone! You’re not worthy of touching him again with these filthy hands of yours!__ and curling up on himself. ‘John, when you left… I panicked… I… I was...convinced you would not...come back…’ he choked, breathing erratically. ‘I...I had a bath, I tried to relax...But…’

It suddenly made sense for John. Sherlock had used again. He had left for what, two hours at the most? And the man had sneaked out behind his back to indulge in his cravings. How could this work? Was everything he thought they had a lie then? What they just had. The intimacy, Sherlock wasn’t even sober for that. That last betrayal was twisting in John’s heart like a poisoned dagger. What was the point to pretend and go through all the flat with him, throwing out syringes and dope… A rush of anger took a hold over him. He sat down, his left hand clutching his pillow to calm down.

“...I really  _ _am__  an idiot, am I? You couldn’t wait for a bloody hour. You really expect me to believe that Sherlock? Why haven’t you called? And where did you get the drugs -Let me guess, cocaine, right? Of course it is. It explains… well  _ _everything__ really! _”_ John grabbed his own forehead to try to calm down _ _.__

A look of horror came upon Sherlock as John, so open, so  _ _trustful__ said these words. ‘John, no!’ he exclaimed vehemently, looking up at him, pleading. ‘No, you’re  _ _not__ an idiot. I...I am weak. I tried resisting, I took a bath, a long bath, I composed for a while, I went to Bart’s, you can ask Molly, she can vouch for me, I was clean when I went, and returned home,’ he provided, with the fast pace of a man on the verge of panic. ‘I went back home two hours and a half after you’d gone, John...I was terrified and you were not there...I thought you had abandoned me…’ he said, remembering the fear, the terror that possessed him at being on his own, and looked away, ashamed at this particular confession. ‘I really thought that the flat was...clean. But John, it was so  _ _hard__ to get rid of all  _ _that__ yesterday,’ he crunched his nose as he recalled what he was talking about, ‘but there was...one cache that I forgot. I wasn’t thinking straight, I  _ _forgot it__ and when I came back and you weren’t there, I just...I went on autopilot. All the other caches were empty - they are!’ he added emphatically when John snorted. ‘Ask  _ _Mycroft__ to send a team to check the flat,’ he offered. ‘I wouldn’t lie to you. Not anymore.’ He stopped for breath, listened to his racing heart and tried to slow his thoughts, to calm his anxiety, to breathe more deeply. He took John’s hand in his and looked at him earnestly. ‘What happened between us, John...What happened was real. It was not  _ _provoked__. Some...aspects...may have been enhanced but...Everything was there from the start, John. Everything was already here, a long time before anything happened,’ he said, kissing the knuckles of John’s hands he had been stroking. ‘I am sorry. For everything. For lying. For not being strong enough. For doubting. For being too afraid. For not taking the opportunity to - I am sorry, John. Please...forgive me.’

“  _ _Molly__? You’re seriously asking me to trust  _ _Molly__ now? Sherlock you and I both know that girl would do  _ _anything__ for you! I would have fallen for it two years ago, but now? You know she’s…  _ _deeply in love__ with you and ready to let you manipulate her in any way you want. As for  _ _Mycroft__ ,” he said the name with irony “given the results he got from you in the past I won’t even give it a try. In fact you know what ? You  _ _were__ right. Once again you were bloody right. Caring is  _ _not__ an advantage.”

He said getting up, taking his hand away from Sherlock’s curtly, not caring that he was as naked as the day he was born.

Despair and anguish came across Sherlock’s features and soul - not that John could see any of them.

‘Please John, don’t…,’ he begged to catch his lover’s attention. ‘John, I...If you refuse to believe them, I understand, you have every right to. But please believe in yourself. In the evidence of what you can see. Of what you can observe. Please, John,’ he continued, ‘don’t… I’ll have myself tested, if you need further assurance. But please don’t...please don’t go,’ he concluded pathetically.

Both John’s fist were tightly shut and he was visibly trying not to hyperventilate.

What was Sherlock asking of him exactly? More trust? He trusted the man with his own life for God’s sake! But with drugs? … John turn around and sat down on the verge of the bed. He sighed deeply, trying to clear his head and think about it. To take perspective. After a moment, he asked.

“What am I supposed to  _ _observe__ then? Beside the fact that I’ve been played by you once  again?” he said in a calmer but colder tone.

Sherlock was looking at John, but he could not say, could not,  _ _would__ not even if he could, guess what he was thinking about. His own faculties of observation had been obliterated by John’s outburst, voicing his inability (unwillingness?) to trust him on the subject after such an (umpteenth) betrayal. He had been stunned by John’s abrupt vocal and physical rejection, although he had understood it  _ _of course I do__ and was not about to tempt fate by moving close to John after that, even if he had sat on the edge of the bed.

‘CCTV,’ he answered. ‘You can check what I did today, you can check what I’ll do the next. Check I did not...that I  _ _was__ clean when I went out and when I returned. Anything. Please, John, consider it?’

“Right...I’ll be sure to do that. I hope you’re not playing cause  _ _I will__ check.” A pause. “And I  _ _won’t__ leave.” He turn to look at the detective. “You hear me, I won’t leave Sherlock. I won’t give up on you that easily. But you have to understand that if we… do this” He gestured between them both. “No more lies between us. I’m serious. I can’t do that to myself again.”

He got up again and put his pants on.

“Get up, we’re going to Scotland Yard. Time to check on these tapes.”

 

***

 

An hour later, John was looking a the screen of Sergeant Sally Donovan’s laptop. Various people are quickly walking backward. Going in and out of Saint Bartholomew’s hospital.

“There!” John exclaimed pointing at the screen. Donovan zoomed in. It was Sherlock. It was him. John’s heart can beat again. He would have recognised that familiar silhouette anywhere. Or at least he thought he would. He perfectly knows the detective is highly skilled on the art of disguise. But John’s likes to think he would always pass behind the mask. He looked at Sally as she sipped her coffee.

“Is there a way to enhance that part? I need to check on something,” he said hoping she wouldn’t catch the point of it all. She showed him how. The software the Yard uses isn’t that complicated in the end. She left him alone for a few minutes so she could refill her mug. When she came back, John was pleased. He had what he wanted.

“So” she finally said. “You still don’t want to tell me what it’s about then? Did he finally kill someone?” she added smiling. It is a joke, he knows. But the memory of their first meeting replays in his head. He shakes it away.

“Not yet, no.” he answered. “But I might need to keep an eye on him for a few days. Do you think that would be possible?”

She shrugged. ”I don’t think it can be a problem. Things have changed with the new Chief Superintendent. Can we at least know a bit about the case or is it...another secret?”

For a moment he considered telling her. But he didn’t. Instead, another idea made its way inside John’s head.

  



	9. Suspicions.

Greg put his hands over his face and sighed with growing irritation.

‘I don’t know what you want me to do with this, but there’s no way I could pull this off. You have to give me something concrete there, Sherlock. Not just a supposition based on a  _ _hat__.’

‘A  _ _deduction__ , Graham. Not only of the hat of the victim, but of its  _ _fabric__. Felt. You don’t see that type of fabric much nowadays, do you?’

‘Yes, okay. And?’ Greg asked impatiently.

‘It’s obvious!’ exclaimed Sherlock, fidgeting.

‘Maybe to  _ _you__ it is,’ retorted Greg.

‘Someone who has as little money as she would not spend a lot of money on  _ _anything__ , would she? It’s a gift, then, a gift given to her by someone who values her tastes, who wanted to please her. We can rule out family - she lives in poor conditions, balance of probability is her whole family is in the same boat; friends: one should not even consider that - little money, little to no activity, little to no friends. The only friends she could have are the ones she’d meet at charities who live with little money as well, and could not gift her something that expensive. She had a chance meeting with a lady, made her acquaintance, befriended her - as did the lady, obviously. The lady’s husband did not appreciate his wife’s new connection and, assured that there would be no one to miss her and lodge a missing person alert, he got rid of her. That woman was killed by a gentleman who thinks he’s above the law and seems to live in the 19th century. There, it is clear now, isn’t it?’

‘Crystal. I still don’t know what I’ll tell the bosses to re-open the case. When there are rich, influential people concerned, it’s always more difficult than if all parties are…’commoners’,’ he finished, mumbling.

‘Naturally. I’ll let you think on how you’ll do that. I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with something. Eventually,’ he added.

‘Yeah, thanks,’ Greg replied sarcastically. ‘You’re in Scotland Yard.’

‘Very sound observation, Inspector.’

‘Why isn’t John with you?’ asked Greg, letting the jibe at his rank slide, just as he did with his name earlier.

‘Obviously John has things to do on his own,’ he shrugged.

‘Yeah, but - ‘

‘Look, he chose not to be with me now, what makes you think I know anything about that?’

‘You’re Sherlock Holmes, that’s why!’

Sherlock was tempted to tell Lestrade what exactly was happening, but his instincts and emotional reasoning  _ _You must not anger John any further__ told him not to and to ask John what he should do when faced with that question.

‘Clearly, Sherlock Holmes has better and more interesting things to do than to ponder over every human action and their reasons!’ he exclaimed. ‘Now, what other cold cases have you got?’

A little startled by the abrupt change of topic  _ _he had got better, nicer since he’d come back even if somewhat more...distant,__ Greg did not let it show too much but instead complied, resigned, to give Sherlock cold cases while he was waiting for John.  _ _Something’s not right with these two__ , he mused.

 

Half an hour later, John looked through the cab’s window. He was aware that next to him, Sherlock was getting more and more agitated by the minute.

“Are you okay?” he asked, more to reassure them both than to hear the real answer.

Sherlock turned his head to look at him. ‘Hm, it’s, er,  _ _nerves__ ,’ he said, aware that any conversation they had in a cab was not necessarily private. ‘It will pass, eventually. In the meantime, it’s not...it’s not pleasant,’ he concluded. He pretended to be interested in his gloves and glanced at John from the corner of his eye from time to time. He could not stay still, the silence was intolerable, his thoughts were starting to take possession of each of his abilities. ‘Did you - were you satisfied with - did you find what you were looking for, back there?’ he asked.

“I am.  _ _Satisfied.__ ” he said, discreetly reaching for Sherlock’s hand with his own, taking it and holding it with tenderness. The cab reached the curb and stopped. Closely followed by a police car revealing three constables and Sergeant Sally Donovan in her uniform. John released Sherlock’s hand, paid the fee and got out of the cab. “Sergeant, perfect timing. Shall we?”

Donovan smiled and followed them both to the door with her team.

‘Donovan?’ asked Sherlock, disbelieving. ‘What is she doing here?’ he asked John, as haughtily as he could as she was within earshot. ‘She can’t…?’ his question was left unsaid, but his behaviour supplied the missing words.  _ _She can’t have volunteered to help us. She doesn’t like us, she despises me. You didn’t tell her, did you? I’m sure you didn’t. Did you?__

It was painful for John to witness his friend’s expression. He put a reassuring hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “She can and she will. I asked her. Relax Sherlock, it’s gonna be okay, you know we need her help on this.” He said observing his friend getting more and more nervous.

“Look, it’s been hours...Your state is obviously getting worse. Please just be reasonable and don’t make this more difficult than it already is. We’ll work together you and I so you have to agree to my terms. You should lie down a bit. I’ll make you tea.” He said stroking the detective’s back. “Are you cold? You’re shivering.”

Sherlock continued walking the stairs to the living room, reassured by the pressure of John’s hand on his back. ‘What do you mean, make it ‘more difficult’?’ he asked turning slightly towards John. ‘How can you know  _ _she__ is not going to pretend there are things when there are  _ _not__?’ he asked with grand trembling gestures. John threw him a glare. ‘No, John. I’m not cold. I assume...I assume you know what...what's wrong,’ he said hesitating on the word, as if saying it, acknowledging it left a bitter taste on his tongue.

John sighed. “She won’t, besides I assume I know all your caches by now...Except for one. I need to know where the last cocaine sachet was hidden. It couldn’t have been at the places you and I cleaned earlier so I assume there is one more place you forgot to mention. Just show me where and we’re good,” he said still touching Sherlock’s back with affection.

Sherlock had kept his head towards John, revelling in John’s touch on the small of his back and the feeling of reassurance and love it gave him.

‘It was...I’m sorry I forgot that one...John, I am sorry. I really am. I did show you the other. The last sachet was in Shakespeare’s  _ _Sonnets__. I kept it as a bookmark. For sonnet 18,’ he precised bashfully. He looked in the general direction of Sergeant Donovan and the two police officers. ‘John...does...does she know  _ _why__ she is looking for…?’

“She doesn’t,” he said firmly. “Just a regular drugs bust as far as she’s concerned.”

He lowered his voice, invading Sherlock’s personal space to whisper.

“I would never betray you. I hope you know that.  Now we have to trust each other Sherlock, we really do.” John’s hand slid from Sherlock’s back to his arm like a furtive caress that only both of them could see.

The constables found nothing, and Donovan was forced to put an end to the unsuccessful search. Leaving the flat in a complete mess again.

John was exhausted just by looking at the state of their flat. He could witness Sherlock’s symptoms getting worse and went to make tea, hoping a nice cup would help a bit.

He kept looking at the detective anxiously, wishing he could spare him the ordeal. But both of them knew things didn’t work that way. It was going to be a long night.

While he felt John watching him constantly with growing concern, Sherlock was becoming more and more fidgety, he was no longer able to display the calm, impassive facade which he showed the world and that was frightening. He took a sip of the tea John had made and tried to experience it fully. However, his mind was too fussy and all over the place for him to be able to do something so easy yet so intense. Sherlock was nothing if not stubborn and tried again and again to do this simple task. Soon his tea was gone. He then went to his bedroom under John’s ever watchful and worried eye, retrieved his violin and returned to the living room. He knew he was not calm enough, not focussed enough to even think about composing, but his fingers itched to be on the instrument, to play the cords, his body was under an enormous amount of stress and pressure: he would sway with the music he was going to play.  _ _Maybe I'll be able to hurt less and escape.__ He took the violin and placed it under his chin, caught John's eye and started playing, albeit with shaking fingers.

Music seemed to help for a while. At least John thought so. But Sherlock being Sherlock, it was never easy to know how the man felt. Rather impossible in fact. But Sherlock had kept on playing for an hour, sometimes letting a slight shiver show through but going on as if nothing was amiss. By the end of what John thought was Wagner -He wasn’t sure, not being much of a connoisseur, it was rather Sherlock’s area from the start but spending a few years living with the detective had started to improve his interest on the subject- Sherlock was all sweaty again. John knew that playing his violin often put his friend in rhapsodic trance, but tonight he had reached an entire new level. It had given him something to focus on though and for that, John was grateful to the instrument.

At some point, tremors obviously became too much to handle because Sherlock had to stop abruptly. John, who had been pretending to read for most of the evening without being able to get a hold on the novel he had started put his book down instantly.

“Sherlock...You look like hell...Will you be reasonable and let me give you some clonidine now? You can’t stay in that state when there are other ways…” He said getting up to come closer.

Turning around towards John, violin discarded on the floor, Sherlock snapped ‘What happened to you giving me Suboxone? You know Clonidine won’t be much good,  _ _Doctor__ ,’ he added sarcastically.,

“I… Wait I  _ _offered__ you Suboxone, yet you refused it! Make up your mind Sherlock, if you want Suboxone I’ll be more than happy to supply you with some, you know. Rather than look at you turning...like a werewolf in cage on the full moon!’

‘Good! Go and get me some, then!’ he shouted.

John complied and came back from his room with a white hexagonal tablet, and handed it promptly to Sherlock who took it without so much as a thank you. John looked somewhat pained but did not voice his disapproval. ‘Thank you,’ growled Sherlock, absent-mindedly. ‘Why have you got  _ _that__ in your  _ _emergency__ medical kit?’

“Good question,  _ _why__ do you think?” Without waiting for an answer John went on. “I acquired it first right after I met  _ _Shezza__. Just in case”

‘I  _ _was__ undercover! I’ve told you that already!’ he replied, still shouting, like the drama queen John saw in him.

“Would you please stop yelling?”

‘Fine!’ he cried, throwing his arms in the air. ‘Fine,’ he said again, more softly. ‘I’m sorry for being an arse,’ he added, timidly looking John in the eye.

John offered him a side smile. “That’s okay, I’m used to it. You should take a shower, you’re still all...sweaty,” he gestured toward Sherlock’s wet shirt.

‘Hm,’ he said. ‘Wha’ you gave me should help pu’ a sto’ to tha’. I’ll just change my shir’,’ he explained.

“Good… It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes max to kick in...Let me know how you feel, alright?” He said lightly patting Sherlock’s arm.

  



	10. Revelations.

“Hoohoo!” Mrs Hudson’s familiar greeting suddenly took both their attention as her head appeared from behind the door.

“Oh boys, the mess you’ve made… What happened in here?” She said looking at the state of the whole room.

“Don’t worry Mrs Hudson, we’re gonna tidy up,” John answered already trying to put back some books on the shelves.” She said nothing but proceeded to help him.

As was his custom whenever he felt the threat of a chatting Mrs. Hudson teaming up with John, Sherlock went to his room, forgetting that he had left his violin on the floor of their living room. No sooner had he stepped inside his bedroom that he shouted bloody murder.

Alarmed by the yellings, John burst out in Sherlock’s room at once, to find him sitting on his bed, checking on the arch of his feet. “Damn me! Should have cleaned that as soon as I could… Look at your feet now. Let me check, there must be tiny bits of shards in there. I need to take them out.” He called for Mrs Hudson to bring his medical kit once again, ready to disinfect the wounds and tend to Sherlock’s feet.

‘John I’m a grown man, I think I can do that myself!’

“I didn’t said you couldn’t. Does it mean I’m not allowed to help you?” John asked, looking at his friend with a questioning look.

Sherlock snorted. ‘It barely needs any tending. ‘Sides, I’m sure it’s outside of your sphere of competence,’ said Sherlock snarkily. “I’ll be sure to add  _ _taking care of a snarky git__ on my resume then. Now shut up and let me work,” he said grabbing the taller man’s ankle.

Sherlock harrumphed and resisted. ‘What work is there to do? Let it go. I’ve had worse anyway.’’

John’s face suddenly looked angry. “I know that. You think I don’t know? I wasn’t there back then but I am now. So would you please, Sherlock, let me help you now?”

‘Fine,’ he agreed curtly. ‘I’d tell you to do your best, but...but you’ve already done  _ _me__ ’, Sherlock said in an attempt at a sexy voice as John quirked an eyebrow, daring him to continue. This sentence resulted in John bursting into fits of giggling. ‘You can’t giggle, John! It’s a  _ _crime scene!’__

_“_ It is not a crime scene, you bloody drama queen, you just hurt your feet! God you’re like a four years old sometimes,” John said half annoyed half smiling with affection.

‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ Sherlock replied with an innocent face.

“You lounging in the flat next to nothing? In that ridiculously gorgeous dressing gown?’

Sherlock blushed. ‘Should I be flattered? Or jealous of my dressing gowns? Admit it, John, they are  _ _all__ gorgeous,’ Sherlock answered teasingly.

John smiled at that and noticed that Mrs Hudson had disappeared from the flat. Probably time for her programme he thought looking at his watch. Still smiling, he looked back at the foot he was tending, and answered its owner.

“If you ask me, the dressing gowns should be the ones jealous of you. But that’s just my opinion,” he said removing the last shard of glass before stamping it with a gauze full of ether. Sherlock blushed more deeply. ‘I value your opinion very much.’

“You should hold on to that thought when I ask you to do something, like say to eat or to sleep for example… It’s been more than ten minutes, you seem a bit better. Are you ?”

‘Hm, starting to, yes. How could I not? I’m being taken care of by the most amazing doctor there is. And that doctor  _ _loves__ me. And gave me some...’ Sherlock rolled his eyes ‘No, not that. Well, yes, you did. I only meant that the medication you gave me is starting to kick in.’

“I’m glad to know that.” John licked his lips nervously.  “That you’re feeling better I mean… And… well….” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you know I’m here for you now. And you know the medication thing will have to cease at some point, of course. Once you’re better. But it’s necessary for now… God I am rambling, aren’t I...”

‘It’s alright,’ he replied with a timid smile. ‘I know, John. You’re making sure I know, as well. If only I had known that...  _ _before__ ,’ he said in a small voice. ‘Thank you, John,’ he said as John got up, having finished tending to the cuts on his feet and lightly resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, no need to thank me now.” He said tucking his medical kit away. “I’m really glad you feel better you know...Only...there is something I still would like to do. I wouldn’t want to make you feel unease nor to trigger any flashback Sherlock… But… Your back. I need to see it again.” He paused.  “Please,” he added in a begging tone. ‘What could you possibly want to  _ _do__ with that,’ Sherlock said, obligingly taking his shirt off. ‘There’s nothing to be done.’

John went on his knees to be at the right height and turned Sherlock on his side a bit to access his back. “I need to know. I want to really observe and see what was done to you.”

John lightly ran his fingers above the first of the marks he saw. It was a fine like. Made by a stripe he supposed. Leather? God, Sherlock had been whipped. The very thought made John’s heart stop. He took a moment to caress the laceration that was joined by other ones a bit lower. Then without thinking, he came closer and gently kissed it. Knowing it couldn’t heal it in any way, but feeling the urge to do so. “That one...a whip , was it?” He ask in a low voice like they were exchanging secrets. It was ridiculous he knew. Nobody could hear them, there was no one but them in the flat. But the respect he had for that man and what he had endured made him whisper. A shiver ran down Sherlock’s spine as John’s lips kissed one of his scars. ‘Yes,’ replied Sherlock, following John’s lead and whispering as well. ‘That particular one is not the oldest. Whips seem to be...instruments torturer are particularly fond of. I’m not sure why. It’s hardly original,’ he added in an attempt at humour to ease John’s (and his) embarrassment in the severity of the situation. Sherlock couldn’t see John nodding as his hand approached another one. That one was more of a burn. The skin had been marked with some incandescent metal tool. The shape was messy, meaning it wasn’t about branding but to inflict pain. Once again, John’s lips were drawn to the abused flesh, feeling Sherlock’s heat as they came in contact with his back. “You were burnt.” He simply said. Then he added. “Tire lever?”

Sherlock nodded his confirmation. ‘You’re on sparkling form…I stand by what I said earlier. It was worth it.  _ _You__ are worth it. Worth many wounds.’ There was a silence which John broke only by the whisper of Sherlock’s name. Lips almost still against his back and fists tightly shut as to contain his emotions. At that very moment, John knew Sherlock meant what he said. No matter how much of a dick he could behave the rest of the time, John could forgive him everything. Well, almost everything. He went on, tracing another scar over Sherlock’s right scapula, looked at it trying to figure out the cause. That one was different. He kissed it too. Hoping the taste would reveal more to him but nothing of the sort happened. He finally asked “What caused that one?”

‘...You know how I used to break ice with an ice pick to keep my experiments in the freezer?’John nodded, a look of sudden comprehension and horror on his face. ‘I won’t be using that again,’ he concluded.

John would have wanted to talk to him. He didn’t know what to say, even if he knew what to say he wouldn’t have been able to pronounce any sound. His mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty. He would never be able to repay Sherlock for that. The man had sacrificed two years of his life, locked away in a complete hell. No wonder he was haunted by his own demons of addictions now. The least John could do was to be there or him. No matter what.

A bit lower were more marks that obviously were cigarette burns, more lacerations and old bruises still in the process of healing. John went on, touching and kissing every one of them, waiting for Sherlock to confirm what John could deduce, adding details sometimes full of colour.

In the end John would hold Sherlock tight once more. Silently hoping the man would understand that he wasn’t about to leave, that he would stay with him no matter what because his heart had been branded like Sherlock’s back. Branded by Sherlock Holmes’s sceal.

John’s embrace was soft and warm, his presence was grounding and reassuring. But his very being hurt, as if needles were pushed in every inch of his body. He recoiled from John’s touch, curling up on himself, curling even his toes to try to make the smallest target to pain, to protect himself. He knew that John was present, of course he did, his … fascination with the scars on his back was telling of his dedication, but...he needed something else. He  _ _craved__ something else. Something sick that John Watson could not and would not give him. ‘John, I...Please...?’ he asked, ashamed to even say the words. John instantly knew what Sherlock was asking for. He quickly fumbled in his pockets for the second tablet and put it right in Sherlock’s hand. “Here, I’m sorry I should have known you would need a bigger dosage… I only have one more left after that one. I hope it will be enough for the night. I’ll get you some more first thing tomorrow, I swear,” he said caressing Sherlock’s hair. Tuning out, Sherlock put the tablet in his mouth, wishing for it to dissolve faster than the first one. He wanted to thank John for his efficiency, to tell him that he was brilliant for  _ _having__ said tablets...but the pain which had hit him was so intense he closed his mouth as tight as he could, willing himself to salivate as much as he could so the tablet would dissolve faster. Despite Sherlock’s silence, John could feel his muscles contracting and therefore deduce the amount of pain he was in. It was heartbreaking for John. He slowly spinned his shivering friend still curled up in a ball so his head would rest on John’s lap. Still playing with the dark curls, hoping it would ease things a bit for Sherlock.

He felt John collecting him in his arms and an agreeable sensation in his hair. He was not quite certain what it was, but it felt somewhat soothing, helping even a little to keep pain at bay. Eventually, as the Suboxone made its way inside Sherlock’s system, John could feel the man drifting to sleep. His breathing was deeper, his heart beat slower. It was good to feel him relax that way, to witness his eyelids slowly closing that way. He seemed at peace. John delicately moved him in a more comfortable position so he wouldn’t be too sore waking up. He stayed nearby a moment admiring that beautiful sight then since he wasn’t tired decided to finish cleaning the flat. He left the bedroom’s door ajar in case Sherlock awoke. Just so he wouldn’t panic again.

 


	11. Snarks and Shivers.

‘No, no, no! That man can  _not_ have killed himself, it’s impossible!’ exclaimed Sherlock out loud. Lestrade looked at him, expectantly: he knew that Sherlock was going to explain how it was not possible and what his theory was - a theory which would turn out to be true, obviously. As usual, Sherlock was moving around the crime scene in a flurry of movements, going from one place to the next without caring if people were in his way, stopping for a few brief moments to examine this or that particular spot with his miniature magnifying glass.

The ring on John’s finger had disappeared, but Lestrade did not think much of it: that had happened to him a few times in the early months of his marriage, not used to having it, he would take it off now and then and forget to put it back on again. There was nothing unusual in a newly married man not wearing his wedding ring. What  _ _was__ unusual, however, was how closely John was watching Sherlock, surveying his every move.  _ _Something has changed, and something is not completely right with these two__ , he thought to himself.  _ _Different than when they came to the Yard the other day...but still, kinda...off.__

‘So, what’s your deal then, you two?’ he asked the military man who was standing observing his flatmate, ready to intervene for whatever reason.

John who was busy taking notes on Sherlock’s deduction barely reacted to Greg’s comment.

“Not a suicide you say? ...But how is it possible then?” he said frowning at the Detective Inspector as if the man was suddenly bothering them in the middle of something important. Although in fact he was.’Isn’t it obvious, John?’ he asked. ‘Look at him, really  _ _look__. And more importantly,’ he added when John appeared not to pick up on what he meant, ‘look at everything in his flat,’ he concluded, coming closer to John.

‘Sorry, am I allowed to be in the confidence here? There’s something you two aren’t telling me,’ said the D.I. with irritation. Sherlock gave John the merest nods.

John looked around them, ignoring both Lestrade’s comment and Sherlock’s nod. “I don’t see anything peculiar about his flat… Wait.. “ John moved closer to the wall and sniffed around. “Where does that smell come from?”

‘Yeah, I can definitely smell something weird, too,’ commented Lestrade. ‘Hang on, it’s as if… No, nevermind,’ he said, looking thoughtfully at Sherlock.

‘For Christ's sake! I am  _ _clean!__ Will you ever stop suspecting I'm not whenever something's even slightly different from usual?!’ exclaimed the detective.

‘I…’ started Lestrade. ‘You can't blame me for having suspicions from time to time,’ he retorted.

‘You've chosen your moment of doubt particularly well,’ snapped Sherlock. ‘I hope the Yard can solve this one on its own,’ he added as he strode to the front door. John followed on his heels, tucking his notepad away. “Smelled like tobacco… am I right? Did the victim smoke?”

Sherlock looked at John with a hint of pride in his eyes. ‘No, he didn't. Really good job, relying on your senses. That smell was rather faint, after all. I imagine that you came to the same conclusion as mine,’ he said, ‘that the murderer had hidden in a cupboard and smoke a few cigarettes while waiting for his victim to come so he could kill him. That was not a suicide, despite what the imbecilic Scotland Yard thinks. It was a planned, cold-blooded murder. And I'd say that the man owed a bit of money to important, presumably dangerous people.’ John did not say anything but only waited for the detective to continue and share all his deductions with him. John's silence was as eloquent as if he had asked him to explain how he could have deduced that. ‘You noticed that the man was quite messy, leaving papers scattered all around the place. Unpaid bills, essentially. Yet, he had recently subscribed to expensive memberships to different clubs in the city and acquired a very expensive watch - the latest Omega, to be precise, as well as other costly items. Seeing how he was dressed, I'd say he went to a tailor on Savile Row. How could he have afforded that if he didn't have money to pay his bills? He had earned money by doing something presumably morally gray and spent it on objects for which he paid in cash. As he couldn't pay his bills that way, he didn't. But his luck turned and he couldn't give whomever he had earned that money in the first place. Naturally they were rather… angry and demonstrated it - you'll have seen, of course, that he bore traces of a not too old beating on his face. I imagine he was too slow in paying back and they retaliated accordingly, by sending someone to kill him. The victim probably arrived later than expected and the hired gun, who knew he had to do that job, stayed hidden in the cupboard, smoking as he waited for George Finmere to come back home so he could send him to his last. I expect a DNA search on whatever stubs they find - if they can find any, I doubt the killer was  _ _that__ clumsy - will point to the murderer… not to the person that murderer actually worked for, though, but that's still a start,’ he concluded as he continued walking away from the flat, John following him, awestruck as he was wont to.

Lestrade had not understood what had happened, why Sherlock had ended up in such a strop as the last time he had seen him act like that, he was in withdrawal. But Sherlock had not… - had he… ? If he had, there was no way John would have accepted it and stood by, doing nothing. Yet it seemed things were as they always had been between them two. Sherlock was an excellent actor who had rubbed off on John but Lestrade had learnt to see through most of Sherlock's acts the hard way, by now. He sighed, and continued the investigation as best he could, keeping in mind John's latest remark. He knew that the doctor had noticed a rather important detail - he had seen a proud smile crack through Sherlock's carefully guarded expression. He knew better than to ignore something deemed of any relevance by Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock hailed a cab and John followed him inside, noticing how fidgety his friend had became.

He cleared his throat and looked at him with concern. “Brilliant deductions as always. I would never have guessed all this simply because of the smoke. I did smell it though....Is it... time again?”

‘Obviously. I  _ _am__ brilliant, you’ve already said that,’ he said, cheeks tinted a light red. Sherlock, seemingly lost in thought, let silence settle for a few minutes. ‘Do you think that we can tell Graham about…?’ he asked timidly. John twisted his lips not really knowing himself. “It’s a bit early for that, don’t you think? I mean, we will at some point, obviously, but… We already have a lot on our hands with...You know what I mean,” he said in a sniff.

‘  _ _That__ ’s what I was talking about. I imagine he would have picked up on our...status upgrade. And anyway, they have a wager at Scotland Yard, he is rooting for us as a couple. The longer we wait, the more money he’ll win,’ Sherlock shrugged. John’ s face went livid.

“A wager?” he hit his forehead with his left hand. “Fantastic! Really great!” he exclaimed visibly upset about the news.

‘I don’t see why that would upset you,’ he said.

“Sherlock…” He lowered his tone. “What I feel for you is real, it’s not a bloody joke for people to bet on. It is private. Took us long enough to figure things out.” He grabbed Sherlock’s left hand with his right one. “What’s next? They’re gonna place bets on how long it will last?”

Sherlock smiled. ‘I know you do. I do, too. But I don’t care what people think, you know that,’ he squeezed John’s right hand with a shaking one. ‘Ugh…,’ he growled half to himself.

John squeezed back Sherlock’s hand looking worried. “That’s it.” He raised his tone to address the cabbie “Change of plans, Victoria road in Kensington please.” He said with a determined tone. He rubbed Sherlock’s hand comfortingly and whispered. ‘We’re going to the clinic now, you won’t last much longer without more Suboxone in your system.”

Sherlock looked away, still ashamed that John would have to witness that and humbled that he would help him get through it willingly. ‘Thank you,’ he replied in a barely audible whisper. ‘What if...What if some...  _ _signs__ become  _ _really__ evident when on a crime scene? What if I can’t…?’’

“One step at a time Sherlock. You’re doing great so far, we’ll see how it goes. We’ll come up with something. And I know Greg will support you as well. He  _ _is__ your friend too,” he added with a small smile.

‘So you mean...you mean we should tell him about my...problem? Won’t he...won’t he become worried? For you? And afraid? I’ve been told that’s what normal people feel when faced with...that,’ he finished hesitatingly.

The military doctor chuckled at that last admission. “For me? You think Greg would worry for _ _me__? Sherlock, I’m not the one in danger here. It is  _ _your__  health, _ _your__  body and _ _your__  well being. For a genius you really miss the point sometimes.”

He closed the gap between them to leave a light kiss on Sherlock’s left cheek.

“Hang on, we’re almost there.” He said as the cab approached the surgery where John had more tabs of Suboxone stored. Sherlock merely nodded. ‘I will.’ His hands were still shaking and he had removed his from John’s, keeping them crossed together, hiding them from his view and trying to stop them from shaking. To no avail, he still  _ _felt__ them as well as his heart beating faster and sweat quickly becoming more important, resulting in shivers down his back.

“You should stay in the cab. I won’t be a tick” Said John as they arrived their destination.

 

Sherlock didn’t voice that the thought of John abandoning him crossed his mind, and merely nodded. While he waited for John to come back, his fidgety hands roamed on his face and in his hair, his breathing shakily supporting his body. The cabbie was checking the man in his rear view mirror, hoping he would not get any worse than that and that his handler would come back promptly.  _ _Why have I stopped to take them__ , he wondered.

John was reluctant to leave Sherlock alone in that very state but it was either that or taking him inside the clinic and there was no point to it. Besides, with Sherlock in the car, the cabbie would not leave. He did as quickly as he could to gather what he needed, only waving Sarah passing by. She must have figured something was on because John was on leave for a week and usually never came back during his holidays. But she didn’t say anything about it and remained her polite self, smiling as always. It only took John seven minutes to be back in the cab. He instantly gave Sherlock what he needed and they went back to Baker street.

 


	12. Bad news and reassurance.

A few days later, Mrs.Hudson called John downstairs. A middle aged man, dressed in a fancy suit was asking for him by name.  He handed him a big sealed envelope containing Mary’s submission’s papers for the divorce. John took the time to read them and realised she seemed determined to keep the flat.  _Their_ flat. John had first started to rent it back when he had thought Sherlock was dead. -Not a good memory- Then when Mary had moved in with him and later, they had bought it together. John had put all his savings in it.

Baker Street was his home, the place he knew he belonged in. With the man he loved. And to qualify Mrs.Hudson as family would be an understatement. But that very move really was a low blow from Mary and John felt a rush of anger take over him. He went upstairs swearing angrily. He had yet to call the lawyer now. He went to his old room to calm down and take some perspective about it. Lying on his former bed, looking at the ceiling he tried to sort out his emotions as memories rapidly invaded his mind. He could remember his first night here, the satisfaction he had felt to feel like he belonged somewhere.

And how hard it had been to enter that room the night after Sherlock had jumped… How he had drown his despair in alcohol the following night and a few ones after until he decided he couldn’t bear it. It had been after the  _ _fake__ burial that John had realised this. Looking over Sherlock’s grave for hours like nothing in the world made sense anymore. Nobody knew it, but John had spent hours considering leaving this world as well back then.

He could not have come back to Baker street, not without Sherlock. It was too hard for him, much too hard. He had crashed at Harry’s for two nights then at some hotel in Central London, but finding a new place had meant something to him. And now...  _ _Mary__ was trying to take it from him.

The  _ _bitch__.

 

Sherlock was in the middle of playing his violin when John had gone downstairs to retrieve a piece of mail specifically addressed to him and that needed to be received in person. He had no knowledge that John was awaiting anything specific other than the divorce papers he’d sent Mary some time before, and assumed it must be that. John had gone to his old bedroom right away to read them, but when Sherlock didn't see him come back, he made the only logical conclusion there was: something must not be right. Was John having second thoughts about the divorce? Had Mary managed to find arguments to make John doubt himself? Sherlock had trouble believing this even if the thought was gnawing at his brain, at his heart. John had demonstrated time and again that his commitment to Sherlock was…how did he call it again?  _ _Iron-cast__.

He stopped playing and carefully put his violin aside with trembling hands, took a few calming deep breaths and resolved to go upstairs and see John.

John was still lost in his thoughts when a knock on the door brought him back to reality.

“Yes, come in.”

John had barely answered that Sherlock had already crossed the threshold to his room. A single glance at John's form, sitting on his bed, shoulders slumped, told him that his deduction was right: something was not good and John was upset about it. The papers in his hand were obviously divorce-related but he still had no idea of what had upset John so much that he would choose to stay in his old bedroom. That fit John's behavioural pattern, but he needed to know.

‘What's wrong, John?’

A sigh. “Mary. She’s not making things easy. She actually wants to keep the flat. I paid half of that flat Sherlock, I’m not giving it away.”

‘Obviously not. Why would she think you would? What… what can I do to help?’ he added after a short pause, clearly unsure there was anything he could do.

“She’s just seeking revenge, she doesn’t even need that money!” he exclaimed a bit louder slapping his thighs in frustration.

“I know she saved a lot from… Her previous life. Thank you Sherlock but there’s nothing you can do, I’ll see about it with my lawyer.” He paused a moment. “The dirty cow!” he huffed.

‘Typical human behaviour,’ Sherlock commented as he sat on the bed next to John. ‘Typical human reaction is to be angry.  _ _You__ are not a ‘typical human being’. Change the pattern,’ he told John, taking his hand. John snorted “Aren’t I?” He said resting his head slightly on Sherlock’s left shoulder.

‘Of course not,’ Sherlock replied, rejecting the idea in a huff of incredulity that John would even believe such a thing. ‘You, ‘typical’? ‘Average’? Please,’ he said moving John’s head from his shoulder and putting one hand on his cheek. ‘Look at me. What am I? How would you describe me, John?

“Describe you? ...Well… You’re.. Very demanding. You cannot settle for something that’s not...perfect...”’

‘Exactly,’ Sherlock replied fixing his eyes on John's. ‘I would not settle for ‘average’. If you follow my line of reasoning, how could you be anything but? Kill that silly idea that got into your head, John, and do something… unexpected. Something that would make you feel good. Perfect.’

“But  _ _you can’t kill an idea__. You told me so yourself, remember?”

‘Then let me help you kill it. It's not made its home  _ _here__ , has it?’ Sherlock replied putting his hand on John's heart. ‘It certainly has not and won't make its home there,’ he added removing his hand from John's cheek and placing it over his own heart.

“Sherlock..” John whispered before kissing him gently on the lips.

‘Hm?’ he said, a smile forming on his lips as he returned John's kiss tenderly.

“Thank you” he replied, kissing Sherlock with passion as he led him to lay on the mattress to find a new meaning to the word ‘perfect’.

 


	13. Transaction?

Martha Hudson was a woman smarter than what people were giving her credit for. From that very day at the end of January, she knew these two would end up together.

She popped her head in their flat with her usual  _“_ _ _Ho Hoo!”__ in hope to get answers about the enveloppe John had received earlier. She first saw the state of the kitchen and pretended to be bothered by it. “Sherlock, love, the state of that kitchen again… I thought you and John had cleaned it all but here I am, still finding syringes in the oddest places.’

John’s face went livid at her last comment. He hadn’t even noticed any syringe. He was now completely trusting Sherlock again. Had he missed something? A rush of panic ran through his veins as he discarded his book and tried to swallow, looking at Sherlock with anxiety.

‘Mrs. Hudson… thank you very, very much. I was trying to keep that a secret to surprise John but you've forced me to show my hand. Look at him!’ he exclaimed as he went to John. ‘Have a look,’ he told his lover, opening the freezer. ‘I wanted to keep this a secret… for another fourteen days… But it seems safer to show you now,’ he said with some hesitancy in his voice as he pointed to a collection of creams of various colours. John’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you ...baking now?”

A faint flush coloured Sherlock's cheeks. ‘Yes, I am. I figured that I had to find another use to syringes to exorcise their influence on me, and since baking is chemistry… You don’t… you don’t mind, do you…? I thought it could be a pleasant surprise for er, Valentine's Day, but if you'd rather I stay away from…  _ _this__ altogether…?’ he asked, suddenly unsure of how John would react to another lie. John’s mouth turned into a smile. “Don’t be ridiculous, I think that’s a brilliant idea Sherlock!” He said hugging him, not caring about Mrs Hudson’s wink.

Sherlock sighed with relief and relaxed into John’s hug. ‘Well, I’ll let you boys be. I'm sure you've got plenty of preparing to do,’ she said cheekily as she exited the room as swiftly as had entered, proud that she could always trust her instincts. Her boys had got together, at last. It took them a long enough time and even more hardships but they got there in the end. She was going to have a bit of gossip with Mrs. Turner and be able to put her newly bought earplugs to good use.

‘So you're not…you're not angry?’ Sherlock asked, needing John to confirm the evidence he was giving him.

“Of course not! Why would I be? I think it’s a terrific idea, and I am very touched by it.” He said with bright eyes. “You’re doing good, I know it must be very hard on you but… You’re doing fine, we’re gonna make it Sherlock. I’m so proud of you.” He said hands on his hips and licking his lips. Sherlock, cheeks warm, smiled at John. ‘Thank you, John. If i can find a way to please you when I'm… letting bad habits go…it's all the better, really. And this I was confident that both of us would be pleased by. In the end result, at least, if not in the making,’ he added under his breath, obviously disappointed that he had to reveal the secret baking to John, but his mind not entirely on the sweet topic of baking.

“You really are a man full of surprises. I didn’t know you could bake.” He said coming closer to land a quick but tender kiss on Sherlock’s cheek. “Makes me eager to know what other wonder you’re hiding from me,” he said teasingly. Sherlock smiled when John’s lips met his cheek and shrugged at his teasing, seemingly not catching it. ‘I've told you, baking is nothing but applied chemistry. I could cook since it works on the same principle, but I  _ _do__ have a sweet tooth. It seemed like a logical activity to have when you are away.’

“I suppose that’s why your skin taste so good then,” answered John with a wink as he went back to the kitchen to tidy what was left of said syringes.

Sherlock, still oblivious to John’s obvious proposition, went to his room to retrieve his violin and started composing in front of the window while John was busying himself in the kitchen.

After an hour or so, the kitchen was finally spotless and John was pleased. Sherlock who had been composing for the past hour had put a lot of pressure on himself, as always. His muscles were starting to ache due to the crispation. So he put his violin down and started to massage his fingers. Upon noticing it, John came to him and took Sherlock’s hands in his. “You’ve been working too hard lately. Here, let me help you.” He said massaging Sherlock’s fingers and kissing them. “You need to relax sometimes you know.” Sherlock looked to John with an inquisitive eye. ‘Working too hard? How so? I  _ _always__ work that way.’

John smiled, still massaging Sherlock’s hands, rubbing the muscles of his fingers and caressing his hands. “I know, that’s why I’m offering some help. You’ve been doing so great lately with everything… you are doing so well, you deserve to relax and I want to help you do that , let me take care of you.”

‘You already take care of me, what else could you possibly do?’ Sherlock asked, genuinely curious.

John came even closer in Sherlock’s personal space, pushing him a little so he would bump on the armrest of his chair. With Sherlock in that position, John was sure he would stay still. “You really have no idea then? Well, let me show you,” he said cuddling Sherlock and dropping several kisses all over his face.

‘Oh,’ Sherlock said letting escape a small sigh of contentment as John was dropping fluttering kisses on his face and lips, slowly biting on his neck.

John smiled at Sherlock’s neck, his hands still caressing over Sherlock’s torso, feeling the posh fabric of his expensive shirt. Sherlock was addictive like a drug, once John had his hands on him, it was impossible to let him go. At some point, John started to unbutton the damn shirt to feel more of Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock could feel John’s ministrations become more heated. ‘John? What are…? Well, I know  _ _what__ you are doing, but...  _ _why__?’

Between dropping kisses on Sherlock’s chest, John answered “Told you why, you’ve been doing very good… I want to share my happiness with you. I want to make you feel good. You deserve it so much…”

‘John, er,’ he tentatively said, backing away from John’s attentions, ‘I hope you know that simply...  _ _knowing__ that you are pleased by my endeavours is enough for me.’

John was disappointed to see Sherlock escaping his grasp like this but instantly followed the detective’s moves, needing his touch badly. “Yes I know, but you baked me a cake! You didn’t have to do that, yet you wanted to please me, that’s the same thing,” he said holding the man in his arms again, pressing his face on his heart. “Last time… When you initiated it I didn’t know you weren’t really yourself. But it’s been a few days now and you’re clean so I thought… Maybe it was an okay thing to do. I mean, of course we don’t have to if you don’t feel like it but...I would like to understand. Is it me? Do you need more time?”

Sherlock scoffed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it’s nothing to do with you. There was another time I wasn’t...under the influence of cocaine, wasn’t there?’ he asked, deliberately eluding John’s deeper question. “Yes but.. You were under the influence of something else, right? Would you care to tell me what it was?” John asked now apart from Sherlock but still holding his hands with tenderness.

‘Memories,’ admitted Sherlock, avoiding John’s gaze. ‘I...Well. I always assumed that sex was a way of obtaining something,’ he confessed.

“  _ _Obtaining s…__ ” John took a step back. He was of course horrified by that last information. Revealing that Sherlock had used what they had on a purpose that John could not have even thought as a means to  _ _obtain__ something “Obtaining something?” He said bending his head. “...I see.”

‘You did get what you needed, didn’t you…?’ he asked, worried that John did not and might be angry at him because of that, completely missing the reason behind the look of horror and anger on his face.

“I don’t know. Did you?” John returned his question at him.

‘That’s not... _ _I__  had nothing to gain out of this, John,’ he replied carefully, trying not to say something John would qualify as ‘a bit not good’.

“Yet you still think  _ _I__  had. Care to explain why?” John was not even angry at Sherlock. He was just… Well not sure what to think of it and also sad to have thought they would be able to communicate properly. Conversations with Sherlock were always like speaking a foreign language. Never sure the message was the right one.

Sherlock looked away, angling his eyes anywhere except on John. He had the distinct feeling that what he was about to say could be upsetting to John, and it was something that he wanted to avoid ever doing again to John...not to mention the fact that he did not understand why that could be upsetting. ‘When you and I - last time, you were...you needed...something. I...maybe I read it wrong, I thought...I thought that you needed…? Oh, why is it so  _ _HARD__!’ he exclaimed throwing his arms in the air. ‘I can’t do that. I’m not good at this. I give up, there’s no way. I can’t...explain, can I? I  _ _am__ a useless thing in every aspect of life,’ he added in a defeated tone and an even more defeated posture.

“Hey hey hey, calm down Sherlock. It’s alright. We’re just talking. I just want to understand you, that’s all. So...Basically...What happened was because you thought...that  _ _I__ needed something?”

John asked in a gentle tone. He licked his lips and scratched his head. Communicating with Sherlock was even worse than giving a go at a foreign language in fact. Much much worse.

“I’m not judging you. Or anything. Like I said, things are confused and I just want to have your perspective. I want things to work between us, I really do.” At that, he put a comforting hand over Sherlock’s shoulder and gave him half a smile. Then he added “Shall I make some tea?”

Difficult as it was for Sherlock to believe, there was no hint of any kind of deception on John’s earnest face. He knew that it would not be in John’s character to lie  _ _That’s more me.__ Despite knowing it, seeing the absence of any indication of ill intentions on John was unsettling and pleasing at the same time. At the moment however, he didn’t feel strong enough to do anything, not even take a decision. ‘If it makes you feel better,’ he answered in a tone of voice betraying his tired state of mind.

“Right,” said John heading to the kettle and filling it with water from the tap.

“So… Is there any reason you would think that I needed something out of our interaction? Have I said something? Done something?...I’m sorry if I have, by the way. It wasn’t conscious at all,” hHe said settling their two mugs on the kitchen table.

‘Interaction...That’s the first time I’ve heard that word to describe...  _ _that__. I was more, er, used to...you know.  _ _Transaction__ ,’ he mumbled before realising, horrified, that John had heard him loud and clear if the look of his face was of any indication  _ _why? It’s not happened to him, so why? And anyway that was ages ag-__ ‘No! John, of course not! You haven’t said or done anything that...It’s just...I remember how you were...the first time...And Mary...The mail…’ Sherlock was rambling, unsure if John understood anything that he said.

John’s look was pained now. Pursing his lips, he was trying not to think too much about what he was starting to understand. “  _ _Transaction__...Like...You mean in exchange for drugs, right? -Wait, is it because of Mary’s letter then? You thought it would what, balance things out?... Sherlock, I’m sorry that you felt you had to compensate for it. It’s not your job. Shit happens in life and sometimes there is just nothing you can do. I would never have asked you or waited for you to...  _ _Do__ something to make me feel better about it you know… Shit! Again, I’m really sorry you felt that way, but it’s a misunderstanding. A bloody big misunderstanding. Sex isn’t supposed to work like this… I mean for some people it does, obviously, but not for me. And that’s not what I want for us Sherlock. You deserve so much better. We deserve so much better than that.” He said holding the detective’s hands in his own. At John’s touch on his hands, a shudder came through Sherlock’s body. He felt a grip tighten around his heart although nothing came out of it. Nothing had for a very long time. It was never a comfortable feeling, but it passed. It always did. He turned his hands so as to take John’s in his. ‘But it...it did, didn’t it?’ Sherlock asked, fearing he had again misread everything.  “No it didn’t. I mean of course the sex was great -way better than great even- but in the end, you didn’t fix anything, and I really don’t want you to. So please Sherlock, from now on, I would like very much you to try and consider physical contact differently. I want to share moments with you, not just receive something because you think you owe me something or that I need it. I want to share moments of happiness and pleasure. Mutual pleasure.”

‘I am not...I am not entirely sure I can...adopt that...that...way of considering it. I will try,’ he added, afraid that John might take his reply as a refusal. ‘But...John, it will...it will take time. I  _ _want__ to do that. With you, for the reasons you said. But…’ he tried to continue but the words died on his lips.

“Sherlock...It’s okay. One step at a time, alright?” he gave the taller man a small encouraging smile. “We’ll see how it goes. As long as we’re together. And that we talk! Please don’t forget to ask me whenever I do or say something a bit nebulous for you. Just relax,“ he shushed the detective’s anxious rant with a gentle kiss on the lips. “Just have a little faith in us. I know I have,” he smiled.

 


	14. Human after all?

‘So. John, these are your final words? You’re not gonna put that in your blog, are you?’ asked Greg, helping himself to a doughnut. Paperwork may not be his division, but it  _was_ part of his job, and he needed to do it properly.

‘A sugar high is good to help when you’re struggling with something,’ Sherlock said at the moment John answered the question Greg had asked him in the first place.

“I’m full, thanks. Not sure about the blog though, readers need to know these things,” he said licking his lips before he smile. “Makes you more human and people like it.”

‘And how does “Sherlock deduced the thief was ironically Ms. April Saviour because it would have been inconsistent with her usual behaviour of attention-seeker not to have stolen her ex partner’s watch  _ _not to mention idiotic of her__ ” make me more human, exactly?’ he retorted to John. “It doesn’t,” said John. “That part doesn’t really say anything about you, only about the thief and Sherlock’s deduction skills. But I insist about mentioning the donuts!”

‘Oh, fine, if you must,’ Greg declared in surrender. ‘Sherlock, you’ve not said much for the paperworks. Care for a doughnut? You did say that a sugar high could be useful.’

‘Don’t insult my intelligence. That’s not  _ _sugar__ I would need to stimulate my intelligence!’ He caught John’s disapproving eyes. ‘I need my doctor to examine me.’

John simply cleared his throat and got up. “Right…”

‘No, not in  _ _that__ way, Gavin, do keep up! I am clean off  _ _drugs__ ’ he said, rolling his eyes at the blank shock on Lestrade’s face.

John’s face suddenly reached the most glorious shade of red as he was feeling Gregory Lestrade’s gaze on him while the man was adding two and two together and his jaw had dropped open in the process.

‘I’m sure you have everything you need to close this case, Detective Inspector, but there are a few elements that beg to be explored. Come along, John, I believe this exploration requires your competence!’ he exclaimed as he exited the room, his coat adding more dramatic flourish to his every move.

 

Mouth still agape, Gregory watched the two of them depart in what he would call an over excited way - even for them. Sherlock had just about sprung out from his seat - so unlike his usual poise, John in tow like...as if he were ready to go on an adventure. He took another doughnut.

  



	15. Cake.

‘Shhh, Sherlock, stop giggling.’

‘I’m not giggling. Keep your fingers off...shhhh! Mrs. Hud - ‘

‘Boys! I know you’re back and happy and it’s Valentine’s Day, but could you keep it down? In my time of life it’s…’

“We’re sorry Mrs.Hudson, we’re just...heading back upstairs, please don’t mind us, we’ll be quiet,” said John, discreetly giving Sherlock’s bottom a small tap so he would mount the stairs faster. Once upstairs John collapsed in his chair with a sigh. “I think Greg deduced  _ _us__ you know.”

‘To be fair, we are rather...obvious. I don’t know about you, but I honestly don’t give a toss about that,’ he said rather vehemently. ‘I...apologise. Language. That was...Anyway...I did something a few days ago and...Well. Cake?’ he asked with worry in his eyes  _ _because what if this is all just a dr- Oh, shut up!__  “You’re right, I suppose it won’t change anything...I mean with Greg. And yes, Let’s have a look at that marvel you baked, I’m rather curious to find out its taste, I can admit it now,” said John teasingly as Sherlock took the cake of the freezer. It was so much more than a cake. It was a multi layered pastry cake with different colours assembled to look like a rainbow with hearts and glitters.  And it was all Sherlock’s doing, who would have thought the man could actually bake and be so meticulous concerning something that wasn’t  _ _crime related__?

At the sight of the cake, John’s mouth opened in awe. “Wow Sherlock… I mean I knew it would be nice but...I would never have guessed you could do something that beautiful….it’s amazing.” He said with a wide smile. ‘I know. When have you ever heard of me doing something that was unsatisfactory?’ he asked. ‘I take it you like it then, John?’ he added, somewhat unsure of himself. John took two plates from the closet and handed Sherlock the cake slice. “We’re about to find out, aren’t we?” he said teasingly.

‘I do hope that you’ll find it to your liking,’ Sherlock replied as he cut the cake. ‘Although I must admit I am a bit...disappointed you did not beg to take pictures of it,’ he said as he put one slice on John’s plate and helped himself with another.

“Thanks. Pictures? You mean, for the blog?” John asked a bit surprised that Sherlock would have wanted that type of advertisement.

‘Isn’t that what people do? Share their lives with the world? You were doing very well with that blog of yours. You should continue in the same vein,’ Sherlock replied. ‘In...In the same  _ _tone__ , I mean. Not  _ _vein.__ I am finished with that.’

At that last mention John gave Sherlock a weird look, not sure how it was ok to joke about such a sensitive subject. “Well… I’m not sure that’s something I want to do. I mean… Now that we are together and everything… I wouldn’t want to give all the evil psychopaths of Britain a way to stalk us. Moriarty was enough. What we have… It’s so precious to me. I don’t want to take any risk of losing you again Sherlock,” he said reaching his fork full of cake to his lips. “That cake is delicious. That’s the best cake I’ve ever had! You’re a true wonder, you know that?”

‘John, don’t be ridiculous. They know our address. It’s been advertised enough. Neither of us thought about the potential - ’ he cut himself mid sentence and blushed furiously. ‘Thank you. I...I’m glad you appreciate it. I...I do have something else, but… I’m not sure. Yet,’ he stammered. “Something else? But we said no gifts, I didn’t buy you anything” John said a bit defeated.

’No, it’s alright. I did say I wasn’t sure yet. It can wait. Tell me, about the blog, you intend to continue it - oh no, don’t look surprised, you  _ _were__ taking notes when we were in Gavin’s office just yesterday - but not post...anything  _ _personal__ , is it what you mean when you say that’s something you’re not sure you want to do?’ he asked with genuine curiosity.  John nodded and put his plate of cake on the table to come closer to Sherlock. “That’s what I meant yes. I don’t want us to hide Sherlock, I don’t mind Greg knowing, people who know us knowing… But I mean it when I say I’m scared for you. If we decide to… I guess you’d call it  _ _upgrade our status__ I don’t want to become a means to get to you -Of course I know how to defend myself, but I’m only a man, and I know now the lengths you’re willing to go when it comes to me. The state of your back, Sherlock made me realise how much of a target you became just to get that sniper away. We’ve been apart for too long, we both suffered too much! You’re just recovering from all the drugs you had to take to cope with it. Coming out as a couple will make me your greatest liability. That’s not what I want to be for you.”

‘Liability. How can you say that of yourself, John? You are my greatest hope, my fiercest force, my strongest light, John!’ he exclaimed with passion.

“Sherlock I’m not joking.”

‘Neither am I, John! When did you think I would ever joke about what you mean to me?’

“Damn it Sherlock, I’m not talking about what I mean to you, can’t you see? The more I mean to you the worse it is! I’m your weakness!”

‘Of course you’re not, John! Why would you even say that? Do you...Surely you don’t?’ he asked, looking suddenly afraid. John rolled his eyes “Of course not! Don’t be an idiot, I’m just scared for you. I really am and I fear that being openly together would make you more vulnerable, that’s all. You know what your brother says. Caring isn’t an advantage. I always thought it was bullshit but now that I can finally have you to myself and hold you in my arms like this I understand what he means.” John holding Sherlock in his arms. ‘John. I know it’s going to sound...cliché but...You’ve always had me all to yourself.’

“In my head yes, but now it’s for real! And I don’t want to mess it up. How can I trust anyone knowing they could use me to get to you?”

‘I won’t let anyone use you to get to me, John,’ he declared, pressing their foreheads together. ‘You’re everything to me,’ he whispered, ‘and I wouldn’t be here without you,’ he added. Being that honest and that open was scary, but they had agreed that they being so was the most important part of their relationship. His history would make it difficult for John to believe him however he hoped that his tone of voice would convey his frankness.

“You know you’re everything to me as well Sherlock, don’t you? I hope you do,” he whispered, his forehead still pressed against Sherlock’s.

‘I do, John,’ he replied, emotion piercing behind the shortness of his words. He drew them closer together, his right hand on the nape of John’s neck. He felt him shudder under his touch and lean into his arms. ‘John, I...Cake?’ he asked, in a hoarse voice, reducing the space between them, pressing his body against John’s to make his intent clear.

John laughed “That is the weirdest metaphor I’ve ever heard for… But yeah, I’m all for having a sweet moment with you. Of course, I am. Happy Valentine’s day Sherlock,” he said kissing him deeply.

 

***

 

Two months later, a letter for John H. Watson arrived at Baker street, and the recipient couldn’t believe his joy, reading that due to some mysterious technicality, his now to be ex-wife was dismissed from her request. John informed Sherlock, and Mrs.Hudson insisted for them to celebrate with a bottle of cider and cake. Real cake.

  



	16. Answers?

Lieutenant Sally Donovan was chewing the tip of her pen, lost in thoughts. Something was on the tip of her tongue. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She needed to grill Greg to be certain. Surely he would know. Since she arrived in the unit, he was the closest person she would see Sherlock with. She went to get a fresh mug of coffee, some scones (she knew Lestrade always had a weakness for pastries) and gently knocked on DC Lestrade’s office door. “Greg?” She said in a gentle tone.

Detective Inspector Lestrade was peering over a file. When he knew Sherlock and John had finished whatever investigation they were doing together - contrary to what his lordship thought, he was not unobservant: he had seen their arms brush against each other more than a few times before, but never had it conveyed that particular intent - he was sure to be asking them for help. That case was somewhat puzzling. Granted, Sherlock would probably not leave his flat, but Greg knew that it would interest him. ‘Yeah, Sally? Come in,’ he answered, his mouth full.

Sally entered the room smiling and handed Gregory the mug of hot coffee with one hand and the scones with the other one. “Not too busy I see,” she said teasingly before taking a seat in front of him. “Still on the Norbury case are you? Why don’t you ask your protégé to give you a hand on it?”

‘Yeah, still am,’ Greg sighed. ‘My protégé? And who would that be?’ he asked taking the cup of coffee Sally was giving him.

Sally gave Greg one of her sexy smile. “Come on, you know who I’m referring to. The great Sherlock Holmes, king of the freaks! I’m sure he would help you out. You know he gets off on it!”

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘Sally, for the hundredth, thousandth time, he is not my  _ _protégé__. Okay, he was,’ he conceded. ‘Ten years ago. But I see what you mean. I have a better question,’ he started blowing on his coffee. ‘Why don’t you and our division actually help me with this case?’

“Oh you know perfectly well that I’m on the Rathbone case right now! I would help you but I can’t be everywhere can I? Ten years already? Wow, you two go way back. I hadn’t realised it was that long. It explains why you know him that well then. I mean, I heard stories about  _ _before__ … I’m glad I wasn’t there. Hopefully he’s much less of a savage now that he has a handler following him everywhere. Is your coffee alright? I choose the one you like. You should try the scones as well, they’re delicious,” she said picking one of them to bite in it. Greg drank his coffee in silence, trying to ignore Lieutenant Donovan’s baits. ‘Clearly you’re not on the Rathbone case at the moment,’ he replied matter-of-factly. ‘Can I help you with anything, Sally? You do have an ulterior motive with that really nice coffee. And scones,’ he said as he heeded her advice and took one for himself.

“Well, now that you mention it… I’m rather curious about something. I’m only asking you because you know them. Like, really  _ _know__ them. You see, a few weeks back, something happened and I didn’t quite put two and two together at the time.”

Greg heaved a sigh. ‘Listen, Sally. I have a feeling you’re gonna ask about Sherlock and John, but I don’t know what makes you say I  _ _know__ either of them. Gone for a few pints with John, but, yeah, that’s all, I wouldn’t call that knowing him,’ he cut in, shaking his head as a way of dismissing her questions regarding Sherlock and John’s personal life.

“You see, Watson seems -for some reason- very loyal to him, yet like I was saying, a few weeks back, he did something strange, he asked me to check the CCTV, I didn’t give it much thought at first but wait to know what he was looking for! He was looking for Holmes. I mean they do live together, why does he need to spy on him if there isn’t something… I don’t know, does it make any sense? And that’s not the whole of it! He asked  _ _me__ to conduct a drugs bust right after.

__ME,__ Greg. It’s usually  _ _you__ who’s in charge of that sort of thing, right? I can’t say exactly what but something changed. Come on, I know you’re bluffing, you must know something! Think about the pool Greg, if you do know something it’s your duty to be clear with the rest of us, if you retain information, it’s you acting like your ex wife and cheating on us with them!” she said putting both her fists on her hips in the most ridiculous way.

When Sally was giving her speech, Greg’s face was growing more and more ashen. Her last comment was a low blow, but he tried to keep a straight face and his emotions in check. Reacting on that would inevitably lead to drama - whether she liked it or not, Sally could react strongly sometimes, and he had to admit that he was prone to do so as well - and probably in him revealing that he did know that John and Sherlock had  _ _finally__ upgraded their status. He decided to act as his job required him to - as a Detective Inspector, he had to ask questions and distract his opponent from finding the truth. Although it did feel like being a criminal. A good criminal? Was that even possible?

‘Wait, wait, wait, Sally. Rewind there for me,’ he said in a voice that he wanted to be calming. ‘John asked you to do what, exactly?’

She rolled her eyes at him “Frankly Greg, I know you’re not that young anymore but you’re really getting slow these days. Like I said, he asked me to see the CCTV tapes of Sherlock, getting out of Baker street, taking a cab and going to Bart’s then doing all the way back to their flat, the footage from the very same day Greg! And right after that,” she whistled pointing at the detective inspector. “Drugs bust. Me, not you!” She crossed her arms. “Don’t you find it odd? Because if it isn’t I’d better resign right there and go living in a cult right now, I’m telling you!”

Lestrade simply shrugged. ‘Honestly, no, I don’t find anything strange with these two anymore. You know that Sherlock is impulsive and that John is - well. John. He’s a doctor, it’s in his blood to protect people. A bit like us, I might add.  _ _Protect and serve.__ Yes, I know that’s not  _ _our__ motto, Sally, thank you very much,’ he commented before she had a chance to do so. ‘The way I see it, Sherlock probably went off on a wild chase and John wanted to be sure he was okay,’ he said, hoping to be convincing.

“  _ _A wild chase__ Greg? He just went off to Bart’s for God’s sake, he’s a grown man. It doesn’t make sense. Not one bit.” Sally pursed her lips. She was onto something, like a dog with a bone and she wouldn’t let go that easily. “And the drugs bust! It doesn’t make sense either! You should have seen his face! Sherlock Holmes usually behaves like he’s above the rest of humanity but he was scared, I could tell Greg! I’m not Anderson, I notice things, you know me!”

‘You’re a good detective, Sergeant. You do indeed notice things. But as you said: they don’t make sense. And anyway, I don’t see how any bit of what you said could have anything to do with a stupid bet we placed six years ago,’ he said, shaking his head dejectedly. ‘Now if you were telling me that they had got closer than usual -’

“Ugh! You know Philip started that bet as a joke back then…. But the reason everyone joined in is their behaviour. You can’t tell me you don’t see it now! I’ve never seen you look at a colleague that way, even before your divorce I’m quite sure you never looked at your wife like that! -Closer than usual- Is that even possible without being arrested for indecency?” she snorted. “Now tell me, why would you spy on your friend that way, using city resources and wasting police time if it wasn’t for some inappropriate jealousy, just to be sure he wasn’t cheating on him! And that drugs bust… It’s ridiculous, they probably got tested and Watson would be worried his partner would cheat without using protection. Wait, do you think it’s someone from here? ….I always thought Gregson was acting strange around them…”

‘Hold your horses, Sally, I’m sure there’s a more reasonable explanation than that. Remember, Sherlock’s always said that relationships were not his thing, or at least he implied it so heavily that there is no doubt about it. And John’s always been adamant that he wasn’t interested in guys. I don’t see what you’re seeing there. What  _ _any of you__ is.’ He looked at her warily. ‘  _ _Gregson__? You’re pulling my leg, hoping I’d tell you what I know, I mean, what you  _ _think__ I  _ _might__ know. Just so  _ _you__ know, Gregson is not playing on that team,’ he said producing the latest edition of  _ _The Times__ at the wedding announcements sections. ‘There. Make of that what you will.’

Sally didn’t look quite pleased with that answer and pursed her lips tight. Her guts were telling her another story and she had to try another angle if she wanted to get some confirmation out of Greg. She looked at the section her superior handed her. “Alright, I didn’t know about that… Maybe it’s someone else then.”

‘Jesus, Sally. Let it go, will you? There’s nothing here. Sherlock and John are fine, you’re just being nosy. Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but you know. Let them be good to each other, eh?’ he concluded.  _ _There. I hope I haven’t...disclosed anything too personal. It’s not my place to out them, and they haven’t strictly speaking said anything to me. This is just...speculation, although the evidence we have is...not in the favour of them not being a couple.__

 

Donovan eyed the grey haired man skeptically. “ Did you just said -And I quote-  _ _Let them be good to each other?__ I mean, we know they are, but Greg… The pool! Think about us! You said too much already!”

‘I didn’t say anything,’ he denied before taken yet another scone.  _ _It’s a good thing I am not the one who is supposed to be on a diet.__ ‘Sally, how many times do I have to say it? I don’t know anything. And if I did, don’t you think I would have said something by now? Look, Sally,’ he continued as she didn’t answer, ‘all we have is our detective instinct. You’re a good officer, with good intuitions. But I would not like you to go off tracks, there. There’s no proof when it comes to their situation, you know? I suggest you return to work now. Thanks for the coffee. And the scones. Going to take them home,’ he said to himself, eyeing the box still half full.

“Inspector, You were the one telling me once that there were always proofs of everything, and that our job was to collect and bag them. Well that’s what I’m gonna do then. I’ll find the proofs and it will finally be the end of that bet. And while we’re discussing this, I find it very disturbing to have Holmes  _ _senior__ always sniffing around our desks, doesn’t he has something else to do? I mean, I know it’s supposed to be a big secret that he is working up the ladder, but there has been too many coincidences on cases concerning his brother where the charges against him suddenly disappeared. And frankly I’m tired of his cold stares whenever I just come to borrow your stapler. That guys is even creepier than his sibling.”

‘Mycroft Holmes is not  _ _always__ here, Sally. He does have other matters to attend to, but when he comes around here, I can assure you there’s perfectly sound  _ _professional__ reason. Turns out that Sherlock Holmes helps us, and we in return help Mycroft Holmes. Nothing to make a big deal out of. I’ll ask him if he could - Why are we even talking about Mycroft?’

“And I now notice that you keep referring to him using his first name… Well,  _ _I__ find it strange, he doesn’t exactly look like the friendly type, does he?”

Greg interrupted his eating. ‘What are you on about now, Sally?’

“Nothing in particular really. It just suddenly occurred to me that all the other Yarders, me included never use his first name in such a familiar way, he’s just  _ _The Other Holme__ s to us.”

She started to pat her index to her chin, eyes still unfocused as if she was connecting dots on a blackboard. “Say Greg. Why did you only ate the lemon ones.” She said looking at what was left of the scones. “You usually prefer the  regular ones.”

‘Stomach ache,’ he replied in the blink of an eye. ‘You’re asking a lot of questions. Not that I mind having a chat. Aren’t you supposed to be  _ _working__ and not interview your boss as if you suspected him of something? Go back to work, Sally. And give Anderson my best,’ he added cheekily. ‘I will take care of Mycroft,’ he whispered to himself.

Sally Donovan continued her deductions. “I remember now… Not further than two weeks ago, during the Lannister case… Freak deduced the killer had died not long after his victim just because of a food allergy. Then he mentioned his brother’s fondness for lemon pastries  although he was also allergic to lemon...Hummm… I think I might not have found any proof concerning our pool yet, but I found something else..  _ _.Inspector__ ,“ she said teasingly.

“The real reason you’re protecting their  _ _idyll__ is that you’re also hiding something from us.

But seriously Greg. Of all of London’s bachelors. The Older bloody Holmes! You could have done so much better!”

‘You’re too observant for your own good, Sally and-’

‘It is time you learnt not to overstep others’ boundaries, sergeant,’ came the ominous voice of the British Government over the speaker of Greg’s computer. ‘Kindly forget that matter and do not probe my brother’s personal affairs, if you would,’ the voice continued in a clearly dismissing tone. ‘Now, Detective Inspector. Would you be amenable to share some information on the Lion’s Mane case over dinner at Scott’s?’

  
  



End file.
